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THE TRAIL OF THE SENECA
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   :PG.Title: The Trail of the Seneca
   :PG.Id: 42032
   :PG.Released: 2013-02-06
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Roger Frank
   :DC.Creator: James \A. Braden
   :DC.Title: The Trail of the Seneca
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1907
   :MARCREL.ill: \R. \G. Vosburgh
   :coverpage: images/cover.jpg

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.. _`“The custom is that the witch must die”`:

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   :alt: “THE CUSTOM IS THAT THE WITCH MUST DIE.”

   “THE CUSTOM IS THAT THE WITCH MUST DIE.”

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    :xlg:`THE TRAIL OF THE SENECA`

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    By

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    :lg:`JAMES A. BRADEN`

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    AUTHOR OF

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    “CONNECTICUT BOYS IN THE WESTERN RESERVE,”
    “FAR PAST THE FRONTIER,” “CAPTIVES THREE,” Etc.

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    ILLUSTRATED BY R. G. VOSBURGH

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    THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY

    NEW YORK—AKRON, OHIO—CHICAGO

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    COPYRIGHT, 1907

    by THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY

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.. contents:: Contents
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        :lg:`ILLUSTRATIONS`
    
    `“The custom is that the witch must die”`_

    `He kept his eyes on the Seneca unceasingly`_

    `He wheeled and sent the redskin sprawling`_

    `They asked him to go with them`_

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CHAPTER I—THE BEGINNING OF IT ALL
=================================

A hatchet of stone, cumbersome and crude,
but a dangerous weapon once, though now it is
only a silent memento of the days of Captain
Pipe, of Lone-Elk, of Fishing Bird, the scowling
Big Buffalo and the graceful, pretty Gentle
Maiden as well, lies on my table as I write.

Of Captain Pipe, Big Buffalo and certain of
the others, I have already told you something;—but
you have yet to hear of Lone-Elk, the
Seneca,—Lone-Elk, the outcast from the villages
of his people,—bold and strong yet
crafty, deceitful, treacherous,—and still, withal
as ambitious and as vain an Indian as ever trod
the long-ago forest fastnesses.

It is of Lone-Elk that I am to tell you now.
What part this tomahawk, which lies upon my
table, had in the story may later be revealed to
you, but as for that, it is not of great
soon to feel the awful force of his evil power,
calmly fished from their canoe at the opposite
side of the water.

Never before had the Delawares prepared so
lavishly for the fall Thanksgiving. To celebrate
the Festival of the Harvest when the
corn and the beans and the squashes, the
tobacco and the nuts had been gathered in was
no new thing among them, but Lone-Elk had
made the plans for a far more elaborate entertainment
this year than the people of Captain
Pipe’s village were accustomed to have. And
notwithstanding that the Seneca was a wanderer
from his own home country and might
never go back to his rightful tribe, the chief of
the Delawares had allowed him to assume the
leadership in every arrangement for the happy
occasion.

However, Lone-Elk well knew how best to
prepare all things to please and favor Captain
Pipe, and he did not fail to see to it that the
latter was given many opportunities to display
his dignity and his eloquence and wisdom in the
speech-making and addresses to the spirits during
the exercises in the Council House. What
could be more natural, then, than that the head
Delaware should refuse to listen to those of
his people who would have criticised the policy
of allowing a comparative stranger’ to direct
and lead them?

The wandering October breezes scarcely rippled
the waters of the little lake. They whispered
in the half-bare branches of the trees and
seemed to play at hide-and-seek with the fallen
leaves. The blue smoke curling up from the
hole in the roof of the Council House was
scarcely moved by them. All was serenely
quiet in and about the Indian town on this
autumn day in the year 1792, excepting only in
the Council House itself, where all the Delawares
and even a few Mingoes, or stragglers
from other tribes or towns, were come together
for Thanksgiving. All had come but one.

Even the most ardent of the young braves
had put aside their talk of war—all summer
long they had talked of little else—to
participate in the celebration, and each had brought a
contribution of meat of his own killing for the
feast which was to follow the speech-making
and offerings to the Great Spirit. All the
youngsters, the boys and girls of the village,
were there. The old men and women, also,
were present. Captain Pipe of course was there
and Fishing Bird and Long Hair and Little
Wolf. Of all the people of the town upon the
lake only one was missing from the ceremonies.

A solemn scene it was when Hopocon, or
Pipe, for the former was his Indian name, in
his imposing chieftain’s costume stood before
the little fire in the center of the long, low bark
building and sprinkled broken tobacco leaves
upon the coals that their incense rising might
bear his words on high. It was an impressive
scene as well, and though the number present
was large, the greatest quiet prevailed.

It was also an interesting sight. The warriors
and bucks were in their brightest and
newest kilts, leggins and moccasins, with
braided belts bound like sashes about their
waists or over their shoulders. Some wore the
head-dress of colored eagle feathers; some did
not. Lone-Elk was of the former and in addition
a piece of silver, supported by a cord of
leather about his neck, dangled against his
broad, bronze chest, while at his left knee hung
a rattle made of deer’s hoofs.

Among the more elderly Indians there was
less display in dress, but many of the young
women were in holiday raiment, adding a still
further touch of color to the picture. Among
the latter was Gentle Maiden, the daughter of
Captain Pipe. A loose gown of doeskin worked
with many colored beads and the quills of porcupines
hung from her shoulders to her ankles.
On her feet were ornamented moccasins and
above them leggins. Two long strings of beads
were suspended about her neck, contrasting in
color with the deep black of two heavy plaits of
hair, falling nearly to her waist.

The leaves of tobacco crimpled and turned
to flame on the glowing, hot coals.

“Great Spirit, listen to our words. We burn
this tobacco. The smoke rises to thee. We
thank thee for thy great goodness in causing
our mother [the earth] to bring forth her
fruits. We thank thee that our supporters
[corn, beans and squashes] have yielded abundantly.

“Great Spirit, our words continue to flow
toward thee. Preserve us from all danger.
Preserve our aged men. Preserve our mothers.
Preserve our warriors. Preserve our children.
May our thanks, rising with the smoke of this
tobacco, be pleasing to thee.”

Thus spoke Captain Pipe. Save only for the
sound of his voice, the crackling of the tobacco
upon the fire, and the soughing of the wind
there was perfect silence in the Council House.

Only when the address was finished did there
come a stir of animation among the assembled
Indians. Closer to the walls, farther from the
fire, which was in the center of the floor, they
crowded then, while out from among them came
those who were to join in the dance of Thanksgiving.
There were fourteen of these,
including Lone-Elk and other warriors and behind
the men came Gentle Maiden and four other
young women—fourteen in all.

Two singers seated near the center of the
large room began a weird, wildly musical chant,
their words telling of thanks to the Great
Spirit, while in accompaniment to their voices
they beat the air with rattles made of the shells
of turtles.

As the singing began the dance was started
and with many graceful swayings of his body,
lifting his feet but little above the ground and
often striking his heels upon the earth in keeping
with the music’s time, Lone-Elk led his followers
round and round.

Unlike the dance of war, there were no violent
expressions of countenance or movements of the
body; no striking or attacking of imaginary
foes. Every step was gentle and every motion
was graceful. Thus for two or three minutes
the dance continued. The assembly looked on
with quiet rapture, pleased and happy.

Presently the music ceased, the dancing was
discontinued and while the dancers walked
slowly and more slowly in a wide circle around
the fire, an old man arose and spoke. It was
Neobaw, wrinkled and lean. He wore no headdress
or other ornament and his clothing consisted
only of moccasins, buckskin trousers and
a faded red blanket which he wore over his
shoulders. His coarse and tangled hair hung
loosely over his ears and about his shoulders.
Neohaw was a medicine-man and was both
feared and respected. His words were:

“We return thanks to Heno [thunder] for
his protection from reptiles and from witches
and that he has given us his rain.”

The old man spoke very slowly but with a
show of superior learning, as if he and no other
was really fit to address so important a spirit.
As he resumed his seat the singing and dancing
began again and for an interval continued as
before.

Again, at the conclusion of the music, an aged
warrior rose. His voice quavered and his body
trembled with its feebleness beneath the robe
of fur about his shoulders, but his eyes shone
with fervor as he said: “We return thanks to
Gaoh [the wind] that by his moving the air
disease has been carried from us.”

Then as before the music and the dance were
resumed and were followed by still another
short but earnest expression of thanksgiving,
each part of the exercises appearing in its
proper order as Lone-Elk had planned and
directed, and as many of the Delawares knew
of their own knowledge that the ancient custom
was.

Thanksgiving to the lakes and rivers, to the
sun and moon and stars, to the trees and flowers
and all nature was expressed in the many brief
addresses, till at last the singers’ voices were
hoarse and the dancers were wet with perspiration,
and weary.

An address by Captain Pipe in which he once
again thanked the Great Spirit for goodness to
the Delawares and for all which was theirs, concluded
the religious ceremonies of the Harvest
Festival and slowly the Indians dispersed from
the Council House. Some went away to games
and some to their lodges, while others loitered
in and about the village. For the women had
all been listening to the speeches and watching
the dancers and had yet to prepare the feast
which was to follow, continuing into the night.

By himself Lone-Elk wandered from the village.
Strolling down the slight descent to the
edge of the lake, he took his way along the narrow
strip of sand and sod of which the beach
consisted and soon was out of sight. The music
and dance had recalled strongly to his mind his
home among the Senecas and those earlier days
before he was an exile.

An audible “Ugh” came from Lone-Elk’s
lips and he scowled as if out of patience with
himself. Turning then and leaving the water’s
side, he pushed through some brush to the
higher bank above. On this elevation he
paused, and turning about gazed carelessly over
the lake. Far across its smooth surface he
could see a canoe and two young men in it.

“Palefaces,” he murmured and another
“Ugh,” this time in a tone of contempt, parted
his tight-set lips. For a second or two he
watched the little craft and its occupants, then
strode slowly into the forest.

A straggling half circle of perhaps a mile the
Seneca’s feet marked in the freshly fallen
leaves while he made his way indirectly toward
the village. As he drew near his listless step
quickened and his reflective, downcast eyes
became alert and sharp. Harsh tones were rising
from a group of braves not far from him.
Then his approach was noticed.

A young Delaware with only a fringed kilt
and leggins covering his nakedness, turned and
pointed a finger at the Seneca menacingly, but
quickly another seized the outstretched hand
and pressed it down. By this time the approaching
Indian was close at hand.

“Does Lone-Elk know of Big Buffalo?” the
foremost of the Delawares inquired. “The
Seneca left the village to walk beside the water.
Now he comes back from a different direction.
Does he know of Big Buffalo? Know that Big
Buffalo is dead in the bushes that the water
runs among? Little Wolf is here. Little Wolf
saw Big Buffalo dead—found the Buffalo dead
among the bushes by the water—found Big Buffalo
killed.”

CHAPTER II—A SENTENCE OF DEATH—ACCUSED OF WITCHCRAFT
====================================================

“Big Buffalo would have nothing to do with
the Harvest Festival as Lone-Elk planned it
and the Seneca has killed him,” was in substance
the report which quickly passed among
the Delawares when Little Wolf had come running
to the village, telling of the discovery he
had made—telling how he had found the dead
body among the brush and reeds as he went in
search of an arrow idly sent flying from his
bow, after the exercises in the Council House
were over.

The finger pointed at him as he had come up,
though hastily pushed aside, was enough to tell
Lone-Elk that he was suspected, even if no
word had been spoken.

“Is it said that Lone-Elk killed Big Buffalo?”
the Seneca demanded of the Indian who
told to him the news.

“Big Buffalo would not come into the Council
House for the Harvest Thanksgiving that
was planned by Lone-Elk,” said another of the
Delawares. “It is this that they say.”

The scowl on the Seneca’s face became more
bitter and contemptuous. With a look of disdain
he left the group, fast increasing in numbers
about him, and walked with head held high
directly to the lodge of Captain Pipe.

The finding of Big Buffalo dead had put a
sudden damper on the day’s festivities. The
squaws discontinued their preparations for the
feast, and while the young bucks and warriors
gathered about to discuss the mysterious death
of one of the best known, though by no means
best liked, of their number, children clung about
their mothers’ knees as the latter also flocked
from lodge to lodge to talk of the strange discovery.

There were few outward signs of excitement
or emotion,—that was a thing the Indians
rarely showed. But in a cold, impassive way
every person in the village was keenly
interested. Never had there been so disturbing a
thing at a time of festivity before.

Many eyes turned toward Lone-Elk as he
strode toward Captain Pipe’s lodge and entered
the hut. Even as he did so two warriors, still
in holiday garb, came carrying the body of Big
Buffalo between them. Without a word they
bore the corpse to the home it had always
known in life, where lived the dead man’s
mother—an old, old woman now, who loudly
lamented the death of her son as she sat on the
ground just within the tumble-down bark
lodge.

“Big Buffalo is found dead,” said Lone-Elk
to Captain Pipe.

A look and significant shrug of the shoulders
was the only answer.

“If one dies when a festival is prepared, the
custom is to put the body by,—to say to the
sorrowful, ‘We will mourn with you another
time; join in the feasting with us till the festival
is over.’ It is an old, old custom,” Lone-Elk
said. “When the festival is over, also, it
may be asked, ‘How did Big Buffalo die?’”

“The custom is to kill him who kills another
without the right of war and not in fair fight.
It is a good custom,” Captain Pipe made
answer and looked at the Seneca searchingly.

“Lone-Elk did not kill Big Buffalo,” the
younger Indian said in answer to the chief’s
questioning look, and his voice was icy cold.

“If Lone-Elk did not kill Big Buffalo,” Captain
Pipe returned in the same manner, slowly
and sternly, “then shall Lone-Elk find him that
did kill Big Buffalo. Let him come not back
until he has done this. The Delawares have no
fear of any living creature; but no Delaware
kills one of his own people. With the Senecas
it is not always so.”

For a moment Lone-Elk’s sharp eyes scrutinized
the chief’s face as if he would find a
double meaning in the Delaware’s closing sentence.
Could it be that Captain Pipe knew his
whole history—knew the reason he returned no
more to his own nation? But quickly he
answered the older Indian’s scathing words,
and his voice was harsh and bitter as he said:

“Does Captain Pipe think, then, that because
Big Buffalo, like a whipped dog, slunk away and
would not appear in the Festival of the Harvest,
the mind of Lone-Elk was poisoned against
him? In his own breast does Captain Pipe find
lodgment for the thought that so petty a thing
could turn a Seneca to anger? No! Hear me!
Lone-Elk but smiled at the childishness of Big
Buffalo.”

“Let Lone-Elk show the Delawares how Big
Buffalo died,” the chief haughtily answered,
and his tones were a challenge. Even as he
spoke, too, he turned his back to the Seneca and
the latter, clenching his teeth to suppress the
angry words he thought, wheeled about and left
the lodge.

As Lone-Elk walked quickly to his own lodge
he plainly noticed that not a friendly eye was
turned toward him. His own glances the Delawares
evaded by looking the other way, but he
knew full well that they turned to gaze after him
when he had passed, and he felt the things they
were saying of him. It was a desperate
situation. The charge of murder might quickly be
followed by the charge of witchcraft, and that
could mean only a choice between flight and
death.

Indeed, to hoodwink the Delawares long
enough to permit him to get away from them
never to return seemed to the Seneca for the
moment his wisest course. Still, how had Big
Buffalo died? If his death was from natural
causes could he not quickly prove such to have
been the case, and then, the Delawares admitting
it, rebuke them for their suspicions? That
would be excellent! Nothing could help him
more in his keen desire for a recognized position
of permanent leadership.

All in a twinkling these thoughts crowded
upon the brain of Lone-Elk. They restored his
great self-confidence and his feeling of superiority.
Looking neither to right nor left, he
walked with all the dignity of his haughty
nature to the hut where the body of the dead
Indian lay. With a few soothing words to the
lamenting squaws about the door, he entered
the rude shelter and bent low over the silent
figure of the departed warrior. Even as he did
so a new thought came to the Seneca and he
gloomily shrugged his shoulders as if to conceal
his delight from those who might be
watching.

Slowly Lone-Elk examined the half-covered
body of Big Buffalo and silently nodded his
head as if he found only that which he expected
to find.

“See,” he said very calmly to the women and
to Fishing Bird and one or two other braves
who had drawn near,—“see, no bruises. A
witch has killed Big Buffalo. It is as Lone-Elk
says. Only a witch’s power can kill a warrior
so.”

“A witch—Big Buffalo killed by a witch!”
The word was spread about the village with the
speed of the wind.

Many of the Indians and Captain Pipe among
them gathered about the Seneca.

“It is as Lone-Elk supposed. It is as Lone-Elk
now says; a witch has killed Big Buffalo,”
he boldly declared. “Listen to my words.
Lone-Elk knows the hand which struck a warrior
of the Delawares down. Lone-Elk alone
can tell how Big Buffalo died; but the Delawares
well know the custom of the people of the
Long House [the Iroquois] and of all the
Indians, that witches shall be put to death.”

There was a stir of ill-suppressed excitement.
Lone-Elk was using strong words. Whom
would he accuse? To be accused of practicing
witchcraft was nothing short of a sentence of
death. The accusation was itself sufficient. No
evidence was necessary.

“Lone-Elk knows the hand which reached out
to wither the strength of Big Buffalo, even as
flowers are turned black by cold,” the Seneca
went on, slowly and solemnly. “When the
speeches and the dancing in the Council House
were over Lone-Elk walked to cool himself
beside the water. Across the lake he saw in a
canoe the young Palefaces who have come
unbidden here to cut down the trees and drive
off the game which belong only to the Indians,—even
as others of the Longknives have done
in the lands where lived our fathers. Two of
the Palefaces there were when Lone-Elk first
saw them.

“Again Lone-Elk looked and only one was
there—only one Paleface in the canoe; but over
the water floated a cloud of foul-smelling vapor.
Nearer and nearer the cloud came. Soon it
passed into the woods. Again did Lone-Elk
look. Again the cloud appeared and as it
moved across the quiet waters drew near the
canoe in which there still was but one of the
two Palefaces.

“And even as Lone-Elk watched a strange
thing happened. Quick as the leap of a frightened
deer was the cloud changed to the form of
a bird—a large, black bird with heavy, beating
wings. Straight to the canoe the great bird
flew. Still Lone-Elk watched closely and held
his breath hard with wonder. Once, twice the
strange bird circled about the solitary Paleface,
then flew swiftly into the canoe. Instantly
there appeared two young Palefaces where only
one had been before. And the bird,—the big,
black bird was gone. In his hands the Paleface
witch—he you call ‘Little Paleface’ it is—held
a tomahawk.

“The sun shone bright upon it and even far
across the water did Lone-Elk see the red blood
still wet and shining. Not then did Lone-Elk
know. Not then did Lone-Elk guess the awful
thing which happened. Now does he know—now
do all the Delawares know how came Big
Buffalo to die.”

There was a stir followed by a deeply threatening
murmur among the assembled Indians.
It boded ill—ah, ill indeed,—to the young white
pioneers.

Flushed with the success of his narrative and
vain to find himself so hearkened to, even by
those who a little while before were his accusers,
the Seneca would have added to his extraordinary
story and elaborated upon the many
fearsome shapes the cloud assumed of which he
told. The words were in his mind but he hesitated
to try the credulity of the Delawares
further. Yet speak he must. The Indians still
pressed nearer. They would hear more; and
Lone-Elk therefore continued.

“The witch must die. If only one Paleface
is bewitched then only one must die. Let all the
Delawares hear now and remember. Lone-Elk
will kill him that killed Big Buffalo—and the
White Fox as well, if the White Fox is also a
witch as his brother that you call ‘Little Pale-face’
is.”

If any of the Indians doubted the words of
the Seneca, none showed it. Few red men there
were who did not believe in witchcraft and
Lone-Elk had made his tale just fanciful and
weird enough to win and hold their faith in all
his declarations.

In those days too, not only among the Delawares
but among more advanced Indian nations
as well, witchcraft was more than a mere superstition.
It was feared and hated as an actually
existing thing, more awful than the most deadly
disease. The declaration of any one Indian
that another was a witch was almost certain to
be followed by the killing of the one accused.
It was the duty as well as the privilege of the
accuser to take the other’s life.

Little wonder is it, when these circumstances
are considered, that Lone-Elk’s declarations,
made in the most convincing and emphatic manner
of which his eloquence was capable, made a
deep impression! Many were visibly frightened.
The thought that soon they might be
struck down, even as Big Buffalo had been, was
far more disquieting than to face a foe in hand-to-hand
combat.

One of the Delawares there was, however,
who went quietly away soon after Lone-Elk had
finished speaking, and as if only loitering about,
came presently to his own hut. Here he
removed the gayest part of the holiday dress
he wore, including the sash of scarlet cloth—relic
of some plundered settlement, no doubt—and
with his gun over his shoulder sauntered
again through the village as if he were starting
out to hunt.

This Indian was Fishing Bird. He found
Lone-Elk still talking,—still surrounded by an
attentive, awestruck throng. When the Harvest
Festival was over, the Seneca was saying,
then would be the time to mourn Big Buffalo’s
death and then the time to avenge his murder.
It was an old, old custom, he went on, that if
one died when a festival was being enjoyed, the
body should be laid aside until the season of the
merrymaking was over. Addressing Captain
Pipe directly, he appealed to the chief to say if
the ancient custom should not now be observed.

The leader of the Delawares saw plainly that
Lone-Elk’s proposal pleased his people.

“Then shall it be as the Seneca says,” he
made answer, and waiting to hear nothing more,
Fishing Bird, with a glance across the lake to
make certain the white boys were still fishing
near the far-away shore, turned slowly into the
woods. He walked with lagging steps only
until the village was left well behind, then
eagerly dashed forward at a run.

CHAPTER III—THE WARNING
=======================

“Now just-one more!”

“Oh, look a’here! that’s what you’ve been
saying for a half hour or more! You see where
the sun is, don’t you!”

“All right, then, I don’t care; but there’s-a
regular whale almost on my hook and it’s too
bad to-disappoint him,” the first speaker
returned. Even as he answered, however, he
drew in the long, heavy fishing pole he held and
followed his companion’s example in winding
his line on a broad, flat stick notched at both
ends.

It was time, indeed, that the day’s sport be
ended. The autumn sun was scarcely visible
through the branches of the trees to the west.
The air, so soft and warm at mid-day, was
growing cold, and six miles or more lay between
the young fishermen and the homely but snug
log cabin which was their home, and whose
pleasant fire and comforts the nipping wind now
made doubly attractive.

Those of you who have read “Far Past the
Frontier” or “Connecticut Boys in the Western
Reserve” will have recognized in the two
fisher lads thus introduced Return Kingdom
and John Jerome, once more in the Ohio wilderness
to complete their home-making after the
trying times of the preceding spring and winter,
ending, as you know, with the recovery of the
hidden fortune which cost so many lives and
for which so many searched in vain.

Of course it was John,—slight of figure but
strong, tough and wiry as a wolf, and full of
fun as a lively young fellow of eighteen or so
could be, who had shown such reluctance to
put away his line and yield no longer to the
temptation to try for “just one more.”

Of course it was Ree Kingdom, tall and broad
shouldered, who pointed out the fast-setting
sun and recognized the necessity of starting
homeward before darkness hid the way.
Somehow it always was left to Ree to guide and
direct. His quiet manner, energy, resourcefulness
and thoughtfulness made him naturally the
leader. He was very little older than his lifelong
friend, Jerome, but the latter was always
willing that Ree should be the captain in all
their various enterprises. And yet it may well
be said that John was a very agreeable and
helpful private in all undertakings, whether in
matters of work, matters of sport and recreation,
or matters involving their common safety
in this wild country of Ohio where they had set
about to establish their home and at the same
time carry on a profitable trade with the
Indians.

“We might have crossed over and had a look
at the Delawares’ Harvest Festival,” said
John, stretching himself preparatory to beginning
the homeward journey.

“Still, the art of minding your own business
is often worth cultivating. It’s a pretty good
idea, sometimes,” Kingdom answered with a
smile, and picked up a paddle to shove the
canoe off into deeper water. Just as he did so a
piece of dried mud, such as would weigh an
ounce or two, dropped into the little craft
directly in front of him.

“Hello, here! Hello, Fishing Bird!” exclaimed
John who, as he was facing the reed-lined
shore, was the first to see whence the bit
of dried earth came, and recognized at once an
old friend from the Indian town.

“How now, Fishing Bird? We thought you
were busy with the Harvest Festival that Lone-Elk
planned so grandly. How come—”

Kingdom’s greeting, rapidly following
John’s, was interrupted by the Indian placing a
finger to his lips and shaking his head most
earnestly.

“Paleface brothers listen, Paleface brothers
not make any noise at all. Hear all Fishing
Bird will say,” the Delaware began in a subdued
undertone, keeping himself almost wholly
concealed by the tall grass and reeds at the
water’s edge.

“No! look other way!” he urged, speaking
rapidly but low, as both the white lads turned
toward him. “Maybe Lone-Elk watching.
Lone-Elk says Little Paleface is a witch and
must be killed. Big Buffalo is dead—found
dead by Little Wolf in the bushes by the water—and
now Lone-Elk says a cloud that was Little
Paleface bewitched touched Big Buffalo with
a tomahawk and so he died. So must Little
Paleface go away—go far, heap far away. Go
soon—right now! Lone-Elk come quick. Bye.”

A slight rustling of the grass was followed by
silence. For a second the young white men
waited, their faces turned away from the shore
as the Indian had asked. When they no longer
heard him, however, they quickly looked about,
but only to find themselves alone. As quietly
as he had come and as suddenly, had the Delaware
disappeared.

Considerably perplexed and more than a
little astonished, the boys looked at each other
inquiringly.

“Real nice,” said John. “It appears that
I’m a witch and that I touched Big Buffalo with
a tomahawk and killed him! What d’ye think
of that, now!”

A smile which was more brave than merry
was on John’s face, but Ree’s brow was
wrinkled by deep thought.

“There’s a chance that Fishing Bird has
stretched this thing—that it’s not half as bad
as he makes out,” Kingdom returned at last.
“But the worst of it is, we don’t know. Hang
it all, why did he have to rush off so after telling
just enough to make us want to know more?
Yet we’ve got to give him credit for what he
has done, and the only safe thing is to take full
account of all he said,—take full account of all
of-it till we find out just what it’s worth, at
least.”

“What d’ye say to going across to their town
and finding out just what that Seneca’s up to,
Ree? Pretend, of course, that we haven’t heard
a thing unusual; just dropped in to look at the
Festival and say ‘howdy.’”

But Kingdom shook his head to this proposal
at once.

“If there’s going to be trouble it will catch
us soon enough without our setting out to hunt
it,” he said. “Fishing Bird was in dead earnest
and afraid lest he be caught or suspected of
giving warning. That’s the reason he left so
quickly. No, John, the thing for us to do is to
make tracks in good order toward the little log
house and keep our eyes open every minute.”

“And I killed Big Buffalo—just to think that
I killed that ugly, prowling, malicious old rascal!
Faith, ’twould make me laugh if—if—”

John’s musing exclamation was unfinished.
With a swift stroke of the paddle Kingdom sent
the canoe sweeping through the water with sudden
liveliness and the lad who, under the
name of “Little Paleface,” must answer to the
charge of witchcraft, could only seize a paddle,
also, to use as a rudder and likewise assist in
hurrying the light bark craft onward.

Heading into a long arm of the lake extending
northward, the boys touched shore at last at
a little point of high ground which projected
through the mass of rank grass, reeds and
bushes bordering the water at this point, and
continued on foot among trees and underbrush.
Kingdom shouldered the canoe while John carried
their rifle, paddles and goodly string of
fish.

There was not much opportunity to talk and
each lad was busy with his own thoughts. However,
when after a long walk overland they
reached a considerable’ stream, by the aid of
which they could complete their journey in the
more comfortable manner the canoe afforded
them, John was not long in breaking the
silence.

“Ree,” he said, with rather more earnestness
and show of temper than was usual with him,
“I shouldn’t be surprised if they come for me
tonight. Confound the ignorant beasts!”

“I’ve been thinking so,” was the answer,
“and I’m afraid they will.”

“The cabin ain’t in as good shape as it used
to be; the logs dry and the roof drier! And
honest to goodness, Ree, I don’t see what we’re
going to do about it; I can’t help but feel but
that I’m to blame for the mess, somehow,
though what I ever did to get Lone-Elk down
on me I don’t know, blamed if I do!”

“Why, you’re nothing of the kind, John!
Get all such foolishness out of your head. And
what we’re going to do about it is to be ready
for them! I guess we can take care of ourselves
now that we know what’s likely to happen.
Actually, the thing that bothers me most
is just the thought of where we’d have landed
but for Fishing Bird letting us know. If ever
there was an all white heart in a red skin, it’s
his, and there’s no doubt about it.”

“And tomorrow we will find out from some
one from the village or other Indians that happen
to pass, just how the land lays—that is, if—if
we don’t find out sooner,” John replied with
a grim smile. “And Big Buffalo’s dead! I
can hardly believe it, by thunder! I guess it
was the Seneca that killed him, if anybody did.
Don’t you s’pose Lone-Elk killed him, Ree?”

“Can’t tell. Off-hand I’d say it couldn’t
have been any one else. It’s been common talk
this long while that Lone-Elk and Big Buffalo
didn’t hitch up worth a hill o’ beans, but—and
hang it all, it’s this that makes the whole thing
so bad a mess—we simply don’t know.”

This phase of the curious situation in which
they found themselves—this air of mystery and
uncertainty connected with the report and
warning which had reached them, afforded a
more fertile subject for discussion by the two
boys than did the question of their own personal
safety. The latter was a matter which
must await developments, and neither boy yet
realized how serious the situation was. Their
quickly made agreement to hold the fort and
face the trouble bravely had, for the time, disposed
of that question.

But the death of the Delaware who had
always been so hostile to them, and the mysterious
trick of fate by which, though dead, he was
still the direct cause of trouble coming just
when all their plans were going forward so
smoothly, and just when they were in every way
getting along so comfortably, gave occasion for
much speculation and exchange of ideas.

“It’s not so hard to understand why Lone-Elk
should want to get rid of us and to make
trouble for us,” said Kingdom reflectively,
“because all summer he has been talking war
and stirring things up generally.”

“And even hinting that we were sending
word of what all the Delawares were doing
straight to Mad Anthony at Fort Pitt,” John
broke in warmly. “Fishing Bird it was that
told us that, too.”

“Still I’d like to know just what took Big
Buffalo off his pins,” was Ree’s reply, and so
the conversation continued with no conclusion
being reached excepting only that there was
going to be trouble and it must be met and faced
just as it had been confronted and finally overcome
so many times before.

It may have been, indeed, most likely was,
the very fact that always in the past they had
come out of the most perilous difficulties without
permanent injury, which made the two boys
slow to appreciate the gravity of their present
position—a position of the greatest danger; far
from all human assistance and with all the
Indians who hitherto had been their friends
now turned against them.

The little house of logs perched on the eastern
bluff directly above the river would no
doubt have seemed a very lonesome spot and
insecure enough to other eyes, as the boys
approached it in the autumn twilight, but not so
to them. With its surroundings of small but
well cultivated fields in the valley below, its
big, comfortable looking woodpile at the edge of
the woods and the cheerful welcome of Neb and
Phoebe, their two horses, whinnying their
greeting from the rude log stable, it was a
pleasure to them to be safely there once more.

It was home. The stout log walls would soon
shut out the darkness and, they believed, the
danger, holding them snug and warm with the
firelight and the pleasant smell of their cooking
supper within.

John looked after the horses at the barn while
Kingdom built up the fire in the cabin and soon
had the fish deliciously frying and several
extremely generous slices of coarse corn bread
toasting on the hearth. A pot of maple
tea—(maple sugar boiled in water—an Indian
drink) simmered from its hook above the blaze,
and a bark tray of nuts, cracked and ready for
dessert, was in waiting on the table.

“Better have everything shut tight,” suggested
Ree as John came in.

“That’s what I’ve done,” was the answer,
“not a knot-hole open. But—well, now that we
are home and so jolly comfortable, does it not
seem to you just as if Fishing Bird’s coming
and all that he said was just some nasty dream
and not really so at all? Does to me. I don’t
forget it for more than a minute at a time, but
I feel as if I’d wake up pretty soon and find I’d
just been sleeping on my back.”

“Well, it’s too bad,” was the answer.

“We’ve got too much else to do to be bothered
this way,” John returned.

“I’ve been thinking,” Ree went on, “that
Captain Pipe may give that Seneca to understand
a thing or two and prove to be our
friend again, just when we most need him,
as he has done more than once before. Still
we’ve got to look alive every minute till the
trouble’s over, and so you put the supper on the
table, John, and I’ll just take a little look
around the house and cast my eyes about the
clearing for a minute.”

CHAPTER IV—WATCHED
==================

“Peaceful as a Nanny goat,” was Kingdom’s
declaration upon returning from his scouting
expedition a quarter of an hour later, and both
boys sat down to their evening meal feeling for
the time quite secure. As was natural, however,
their conversation still centered upon the
strange news and warning which had come to
them and they discussed many plans of possible
action.

One thing seemed apparent; they must
remain near the cabin or the Indians, finding it
empty, would be very likely, under Lone-Elk’s
leadership, to destroy it. Except to stay where
they were, therefore, and face the Seneca and
his charges, only one course was open. This was
to take their horses and such goods as could be
carried, and seek the protection of Fort Pitt
or Gen. Wayne’s army encamped near there.

Of the whole evening’s talk, however, but one
thing, in addition to the plan argued at the very
first, was settled. It was that John should be
in readiness to make his escape if such a move
were found necessary. It was he and he alone
who was charged with witchcraft. Fishing Bird
had made this plain. Ree would be in danger
only as the friend of the “witch” and it was
unlikely, considering the friendly relations the
boys had always sought to maintain with the
Delawares, that harm would come to the elder
lad unless some specific charge were lodged
against him, or unless he should be forced into
the fight in defense of his friend.

The latter situation was what Ree himself
fully expected. If there was to be trouble he
would court his full share of it and he would not
have thought of planning otherwise.

Soon after supper the boys covered their fire
with ashes, making the interior of the cabin
completely dark; and though they spent the succeeding
hours in conversation they watched the
surrounding clearing from the loopholes.

Neither had much desire to sleep, but at last
John prevailed upon Kingdom to lie down for
awhile, and he alone remained on guard until
nearly morning. Once he was given a lively
thrill when a dark object emerged slowly and
cautiously from the woods and crept toward
the cabin. But the visitor proved to be only a
wolf, which presently trotted away and was
lost in the shadows again, and Jerome was well
pleased that he had given Kingdom no chance
to laugh by taking alarm when no danger
threatened.

Some time before daybreak, Ree, who had
slept but little, arose and ordered John to bed.
The latter reluctantly obeyed. “For,” he said,
“if a surprise is what the Seneca has in mind,
it will be just before morning that they’ll be
most likely to come.”

But the long night passed without a disturbing
sound. When Jerome bounced out of his
bunk of blankets spread upon freshly gathered
leaves, after troubled dreams in which Big Buffalo
pursued him with an upraised hatchet
resembling a gorgeously colored sunset cloud,
it was to find a cheerful blaze in the fireplace
and Ree washing up the dishes left untouched
since supper. The door stood open and the
cool, pure air with its scent of frost-nipped
leaves was like a tonic. The tinkle of the water
along the banks of the river below rose musically
in the almost perfect quiet prevailing in
both the woods and clearing, and nowhere was
there hint or sign that danger lurked near and
nearer.

Waiting—lingering over their breakfast,
glancing often and anxiously through the open
door and frequently going out to scan the clearing
from side to side and from end to end—waiting,
they hardly knew for what,—in the
early morning the young settlers began to find
time hanging heavily on their hands.

They were not accustomed to such inactivity.
To feel compelled to remain idle, too, when
there were so many things they wished to be
doing, was almost as trying as it was to bear up
cheerfully under the constant thought that the
next hour,—the next minute, even—might find
them fighting for their very lives.

“This certainly seems like a lot of foolishness,”
said John, at last impatiently.

“But seeming and being are two altogether
different things,” Ree answered. “Still, it’s
not very comfortable or enjoyable, I’ll admit.
But what else can we be doing?”

“Some one’s coming!” exclaimed John in an
undertone, instantly changing the trend of both
his own thoughts and Ree’s. He was standing
out where he could command a view of the river,
while Kingdom sat in the doorway.

Quietly and with an appearance of unconcern
Ree rose and went forward. Looking in the
direction John in a whisper indicated, he saw
three half-naked savages two hundred yards or
more up the stream. They were hastily dragging
a canoe out of the water and up onto the
bank opposite that on which the cabin stood.

“Holler at them! Sing out something!”
John urged, looking toward the Indians again
himself. Not to attract their notice he had at
first pretended he did not see them. “Blest if
I know any of them!” he added, looking more
closely.

Already the redskins were well up on the
river bank and two of them had lifted the canoe
up to their shoulders.

“I can’t make out why they are leaving the
water in that way,” Ree answered. “Maybe
we can find out. Ho, there! Howdy, brothers!”

Kingdom’s voice was clear and strong. There
could be no doubt of the Indians having heard
him, but the only effect of his words, apparently,
was to send them hurrying into the
woods the faster and in another second they
had disappeared from sight.

“Umph!” Kingdom ejaculated wonderingly,
“I believe they’re afraid of you, John,—afraid
to sail down past us! But you can’t tell much
about it, either. It may be they thought they’d
find us gone and were taken by surprise to find
out otherwise.”

“Well, it shows one thing, we never saw such
a queer piece of business before, and it simply
proves that there’s something wrong and most
likely it’s just what Fishing Bird told us,” John
answered, pretty soberly.

“Yes, it proves that there’s something up,
sure, and I guess we’re both tired of waiting to
find out more about it,” said Kingdom decisively.
“So I’ll tell you what we’ll do: Just
you keep yourself safe somewhere and I’ll ride
Phoebe over to the Delaware town and find out
all about it. We’ll surely get no news, good or
bad, from Indians happening to go by if they
all break into the woods on the far side of the
river, before getting here!”

“Ree, you’ve told me a thousand times, if
you’ve told me once, to be prudent. Now how
about being prudent yourself? We’d better
wait! We’ll get some word, yet.”

Kingdom made no answer at once, but he was
still thinking of the plan he had so impulsively
proposed and the more he pondered the more it
appealed to him. Then he began to give John
the benefit of his thoughts—began to argue that
they could not afford to wait indefinitely, with
only their supposition that they would be
attacked as a reason; began to point out that
the time to win the favorable attention of Captain
Pipe was before fighting took place, not
afterward; began to regret that he had not gone
to the town of the Delawares earlier. But he
would not admit that he himself would be in
danger, though ever so anxious lest John should
not properly take care of himself in his absence.

As usual, Kingdom had his way, though in
this case it might well be questioned whether his
was the right way, all things considered, and
especially in view of what happened afterward.

With a final word of caution to John to keep
himself safe by staying within easy reach of the
cabin’s thick walls, Kingdom mounted the docile
mare, given them by Theodore Hatch, the
Quaker, and set off at a gallop. It was a delightfully
warm, sunny autumn day and but for
the load upon his spirits the daring young
rider, dashing in and out among the trees,
where the rough trail crooked and curved, would
have been buoyantly happy. The ground was
carpeted with freshly fallen leaves. The foliage
of the underbrush was still scarcely touched
by the frost, and the cawing of the crows and
chatter of numerous smaller birds imparted a
feeling as if life were a long, bright holiday.

Still, Ree could not rid his mind of the sense
of danger which, like a shadow, followed always
closely with him, and he turned over and over in
his thoughts plan after plan for laying the
whole cause of his visit clearly before Captain
Pipe, and asking his interference.

Fresh and active, Phoebe kept a steady, rapid
gallop, wherever the overhanging branches
would permit such speed, and in but little more
than an hour Kingdom drew rein within a short
walk of the Indian town.

It was Ree’s intention to ascertain as fully as
possible just what the Delawares were doing,
and then, if the situation were not too serious,
ride up to and among the scattered collection
of huts as boldly and freely as he would have
done on any other occasion.

But his pause to reconnoiter was fortunate.
He had left the portage trail, an extension of
which led to the village, and sheltered himself
among some small, low trees thickly growing
between the path and the lake. Dismounting,
he listened closely but heard no sound. Even
the Indian town must be very quiet, he thought,
that not so much as a voice or the bark of a dog
was heard. However, he slipped the bridle rein
over Phoebe’s head and hung it loosely upon a
short, projecting branch, preparatory to going
forward to investigate on foot.

A footstep, light as a feather, but instantly
caught by his quick ear, made Ree start. Over
his shoulder he saw, half hidden by some bushes,
a face turned toward him and a hand upraised
in a way commanding silence.

“Gentle Maiden!” He spoke the name in an
undertone, which showed both his surprise and
his friendly feeling for the one addressed.

“I heard the hoofs of your horse,” said the
Indian girl, drawing stealthily nearer and in the
same manner looking all about her. “My Paleface
brother’s friend—he is not here.” Her
words seemed to put a question she feared to
more directly ask, and Kingdom realized at
once, if he had ever doubted before, that the
warning from Fishing Bird was not without
most serious reason.

While the young white man hesitated to
speak, not knowing just how much he dared let
the daughter of Captain Pipe understand that
he knew, she continued:

“My Paleface brother is in danger. Big Buffalo
was found dead and Lone-Elk, the stranger
from afar, has said a witch has done it—killed
Big Buffalo with a witch’s hatchet that leaves
no mark. Lone-Elk says the witch is Little
Paleface, the friend of my brother here,—says
he saw Little Paleface, bewitched, strike the
Delaware down. Even now have Lone-Elk and
some others gone to seize him.”

“And Captain Pipe, your father—does Captain
Pipe let them do this?” Ree asked, trying
to remain calm.

“The custom is that the witch must die,” the
girl made answer, turning her eyes away.

“Gentle Maiden, you know that John Jerome—you
know that Little Paleface is no witch;
that he no more killed Big Buffalo than you
did.” Kingdom’s voice was half angry in its
impatient earnestness.

“The customs of the Indians are not the customs
of the white people,” the girl made
answer. “Lone-Elk is powerful. What Gentle
Maiden believes would be as dipping water
from the lake yonder with a cup—making no
difference one way, no difference another.”

“But Captain-Pipe knows better, Gentle
Maiden.”

“Hopocon—my father, that you call Captain
Pipe—wants none of the Paleface teachings.
When the missionaries told Gentle Maiden long
ago there were no witches, he only pitied them
that they knew no better.”

“But—”

“No, no!” the girl broke out hurriedly. “My
Paleface brother must not wait talking here.
That which is, must be. Not long has Lone-Elk
been gone. By riding fast the White Fox can
reach his cabin before the coming of the Seneca,
and with Little Paleface soon be far away
where Lone-Elk will not find them. Haste!
Gentle Maiden has done all she can. Paleface
brother must not remember who has told him
this, but oh, he must remember what he has
heard! Hurry, hurry, now, or—”

“I’ll go, Gentle Maiden, I’ll go. If I can
ever pay back the kindness you have done both
John and me, I’ll not be slow to do it, you may
be sure. But it’s a downright shame—no, what
I mean is that you need never fear anyone will
so much as suspect that you told me this or anything.
Good-bye, good-bye.”

With such feverish anxiety and haste did Ree
speak, now that he was bent only on flying to
John’s rescue, he scarce knew what he said;
but in a trice he was in the saddle. And yet
quickly as he moved, when he turned to give a
parting nod the Indian girl was gone.

Long familiarity with the woods had made
the beautiful, intelligent mare, Phoebe, almost
as free and light-footed among the trees and
brush and rough ground, often broken by
rougher roots and fallen branches, as a deer.
Kingdom placed all dependence in his horse’s
ability to avoid or clear every obstruction and
urged the gentle creature to the utmost, paying
little heed to anything save to escape the
limbs of trees overhead as he hastened on. He
had at once concluded that Lone-Elk and his
band were undoubtedly traveling toward the
cabin by the route to the east of the lake and
the swamp which bounded a considerable portion
of it, for otherwise he must have met them.
He knew that they could easily have heard him
approaching and hidden themselves until he
passed, but long training had made his ears
sharp and his eyes the same. Maybe he had this
time, however, placed too much dependence in
them.

“Anyhow, we’ll soon know, my pet,” he murmured
with teeth clenched, and Phoebe seemed
to understand.

Out upon the bluffs above the river, into the
open for a moment, then down the precipitous
hills and across the water at a shallow place
horse and rider went, and, emerging soon from
the woods again, were in the natural clearing—the
clearing which had originally tempted the
boy pioneers to locate here.

All was quiet. The cabin stood like a sentry
at rest on the high bank rising abruptly from
the river, then sloping down on all sides away
from it. The yellow, autumn sunlight made the
whole scene appear even drowsily tranquil. A
sense of relief came to Kingdom, and he even
felt chagrined that he had been so decidedly disturbed.

Still it was strange that John did not show
himself. Perhaps the exceeding quiet all about
was, after all, fraught with greatest danger.
Perhaps—but Ree was at the foot of the slope
now and his mind had scarcely time to present
another thought before he was up the hill, and
throwing himself from the horse, quickly entered
the open door of the low log house.

“John!” he called in a low tone—and a little
catch in his throat which he could not control,
gave his voice a tremulous quaver. “John!”

“Yes, Ree;” the answer was scarcely more
than a whisper, “I’m up here in the loft, and
listen! You can hear me?”

“Every word.”

“Don’t act surprised or excited or show that
you have found out or heard anything, for
they’re watching now—Lone-Elk and a pack of
Delawares have surrounded the clearing. I’ve
been peeking through a crack, watching ’em
half an hour or more.”

CHAPTER V—IN DRIPPING RAIN AND DARKNESS
=======================================

With what consternation Kingdom received
the startling intelligence John’s words conveyed
would never have been guessed from his actions.
He tossed his rough, squirrel-skin cap on the
bunk, which was a bed by night and a lounge by
day, and sat down, wiping the perspiration from
his forehead.

“They’re after me, I s’pose, Ree,—blame
’em!” Jerome went on in the same half
whisper. “I just happened to be up here pawing
over some of the skins stored away so long,
and got a glimpse of the rascals among the
trees. So I’ve been watching ever since, and I
don’t want you to think I crawled up here to
hide. Just so much as hint at such a thing and
I’ll—”

John did not say what he would do, but seeing
how he hated being found in a position
which might be taken as a reflection upon his
courage, Ree was considerably tempted to suggest
that maybe he himself had better get under
the bed. But it was no time for joke-making
and the facetious thought had no more than
occurred to him than, unspoken, it was forgotten.

“Stay up there, John, old boy; see everything
you can. I’ll stroll out and put Phoebe in
the lean-to and gape around some in a natural
sort of way myself. The whole business looks
mighty bad. What Fishing Bird said is all
true; I found out that much. I’ll tell you about
it when I come in.”

If John Jerome had been a lad easily alarmed
or one likely to fall a ready victim to a too lively
imagination, Return Kingdom would certainly
have thought that he had done so in this case
when, after unsaddling the mare and tying her
in her stall, he sat down in the open doorway of
the cabin and with apparent indifference
scanned the clearing from end to end, without
seeing the slightest sign of the Indians’ presence.

With his elbow on his knee, his head upon his
hand, as if he were merely resting, he continued
to watch the wooded boundary most intently
from between the fingers which concealed his
eyes. He had little fear that the Indians would
fire upon him from some place of concealment
among the trees; the distance was too great. A
white hunter might easily have brought down
a deer at the same number of yards with an exceptionally
heavy charge in his long-barreled
rifle, but the Redskins, as Ree well knew, usually
loaded with so little powder, owing to its
scarcity with them, no doubt, that he had little
to fear in thus exposing himself so long as the
enemy came no nearer than the edge of the
woods.

“You’re downright sure you saw them,
John?” inquired Kingdom, in a low voice, rising
and entering.

“There he goes! There—did you see that?”
came an excited undertone from Jerome as if
in answer.

Instantly Kingdom looked out but he saw
nothing.

“I vow! I think it was the Seneca!” John
whispered. “He ran from the big beech near
the patch to the clump of little trees at the left.
Guess he thought no one was watching but you,
and darted out when your back was turned.”

“I’ll stay back out of sight a bit, and you look
sharp. Maybe we can make out what they’re
up to,” Kingdom replied. Then, to lead the
savages to suppose that their presence was not
suspected, Ree went about making a bright fire
as if to prepare dinner, and soon the smoke
from the cabin chimney conveyed to the crouching
redskins in hiding along the clearing’s edge
the very impression he wished them to receive.

Kingdom spent half an hour,—a long half
hour of suspense and anxious thoughts—in putting
the room to rights, busying himself in a
dozen different ways, while John peered closely
from the crack, to see through which his eyes
had already been strained so long they ached
severely. Still he saw nothing. Whether the
savages were only extremely wary or whether,
as the boys fervently hoped, they had slipped
away and gone as silently as they came could
not be known, and continued vigilance was the
only key to their safety.

All day John Jerome remained concealed in
the loft, watching almost constantly from the
narrow crevice which permitted him to see without
being seen. All day Return Kingdom went
about from the cabin into the lean-to barn, from
the barn into the cabin again, and in and out
of the open door a hundred times on one pretext
and another, doing his best to make his
every movement seem composed and natural.

He was certain in his own mind that the
savages were watching for John. Perhaps they
expected to see him in some fantastic and witch-like
shape,—see him change from a cloud to
human form, or turn himself into some wild
beast.

Once a wandering crow flew into the clearing
and circled idly over the little cornfield. As
it flew down to a shock of corn, both boys
chanced to notice it and both saw, too, a sudden,
rapid movement, and then another and
another, within the fringe of the woods. Were
they the dancing shadows of wind-tossed
branches, or were the Seneca and his band still
near? Quick as the movements were, little as
the boys had seen, they knew the answer to the
question which occurred to them and thanked
the vagrant crow for the information he had
been the means of giving them.

“Still,” said John, “if those fool Delawares
get it into their heads that that crow is me, and
like as not Lone-Elk may tell ’em some such
thing, it’ll just make the whole lot of them believe
more than ever that I am a sure enough
witch.”

Full well did Kingdom realize how very correct
John’s observation probably was. He was
confident that it was the crow which occasioned
the moving about among the hiding Indians,—the
flitting shadows both he and John had seen.
He made no answer to his friend’s remark at
once, but turned over again in his mind a plan
which he had been considering all day. It
seemed wise. He could think of nothing better.

“John,” said Ree at last, “if they stay away
till it’s dark enough to do it, how would you
like to slip away and go up among the rocky
ledges for a few days?”

“Hide?” Jerome demanded rather contemptuously.

“Why, no! There’s no need to call it hiding,”
Kingdom answered tactfully. “Just stay
away from the cabin for awhile and give me a
chance to find out what killed Big Buffalo and
get the witch idea out of these crazy Delawares’
minds.”

“But, don’t you—”

“I know what you’re going to say. It is,
don’t I think that the fact of your being away
will make the Indians all the more certain about
this witchcraft business—make them think
you’ve skedaddled! We can’t help what they
think. We do know, though, that they’re after
you and either we’ve got to pack up and light
out, or get this witch idea out of their heads.
Now I think I can do it, in spite of Gentle
Maiden’s discouraging talk; if I only have a
chance.”

On one point, as the discussion continued,
hardly above a whisper, both boys agreed. It
was that some time during the night the Indians
would visit the cabin. They might come as if
in a friendly way just to learn whether Little
Paleface was there; or they might make a determined
attack. The redskins’ supposition
that Ree was alone, confirmed by all that they
had seen during the day, however, would probably
suggest to them an apparently friendly,
but in reality spying, visit.

In whatever way the lads viewed their situation
they found so much of uncertainty surrounding
them that at best they must take a
chance.

Often and often was it this way in pioneer
days. Every important movement was encompassed
by more or less danger. If a settler
needed but to go to mill, or to some frontier
trading place for supplies, he confronted many
uncertainties and often left his family in
danger, too. Danger was always present, and
although only the foolhardy were disregardful
entirely, even the most prudent came by constant
association to take it as a matter of
course.

The latter was the feeling of the two boys
from Connecticut. If they had been less accustomed
to the alarms of the wilderness, they
would, in the pinch in which they now found
themselves, most probably have sought safety
at once at Fort Pitt or perhaps at some of the
Ohio river settlements. If they had done so
their story would have been a very different
one.

Though he had but reluctantly agreed to
Ree’s proposal, not wishing to leave his friend
to face the situation alone, John found so much
to think about in the prospect of spending the
night—and it might be many nights and days—alone
in the woods, that the reflection that he
also would be in danger was almost comforting.
He thought with dread of the long and lonely
hours of darkness without even a camp-fire’s
comfort, but somehow there was something
quite interesting about it all, too. Perhaps it
was the change and the excitement, as he
planned how stealthily he would steal through
the woods, that appealed to him. Certain it is
that he found himself anxious to be gone, and
watching the deepening shadows almost impatiently
lest something happen to prevent his departure
before thick darkness came. His greatest
fear lay in the fact that on three sides at
least the cabin was, in all probability, still surrounded
by Indians. On the fourth or west side
was the river. How was he to reach the open
woods? How reach the rocky ledges to the
north and east, among whose deep ravines and
clefts and long, narrow passages and shallow
caves he would remain until the rage of the
savages had passed?

A bank of clouds, wide as the eye could see
above the treetops, had come up out of the
southwest to meet the sinking sun and, when at
last the shadows had filled the valley, darkness
came on rapidly. The wind rose, too, and quite
before its approach was suspected, a drizzling
fall rain had set in, which gave promise of continuing
all night.

The cabin door had stood open all day, but
Ree felt he could close it now without exciting
the suspicions of those who watched. As he
did so, John clambered quickly down from the
low loft and slipped noiselessly through the
low opening connecting the lean-to stable and
the single room of the cabin itself. How well
he remembered the good purpose the hole had
served once before! He remarked to Ree about
it with a nervous little laugh, recalling that lively
battle of their early days in the woods and
how nearly fatal to them both it had been. But
Kingdom told him to make haste; that they
could not know who was watching now, and in
the darkness there might be Indians even within
hearing of a whisper.

Ree had improved the opportunity before
night came on to fill John’s powder horn and
bullet pouch and to pack in the form of a
knapsack for him a blanket and a supply of dried
meat and bread. These, with Jerome’s rifle,
he had previously passed through the “cat
hole,” as it was called, into the stable; but now
that John had followed them, he suddenly found
himself wishing that he had planned otherwise.
Yet confident all was for the best, though the
wind never had had so much of awful homesickness
in its mournful sounds before, though the
rain never before had beaten with such seeming
tearful sorrow upon the roof, he whispered
hastily:

“Be careful, old boy. Look for news by the
day after tomorrow if you hear nothing before,
and be sure that everything will be all right in
a few days at most.”

“And you come where I am the minute you’re
in danger, mind,” John answered. “Good-bye,
Ree, I’m going along the river’s edge. It’ll be
easy to get past anybody or anything tonight.
Good-bye.”

Ree would have whispered another word of
caution and of farewell, but he realized that
John was gone—felt it in his very bones that he
was alone, alone; and the autumn wind blew
more mournfully than ever; the patter of the
raindrops sounded twice as melancholy as before.

For many minutes Kingdom intently listened,
then throwing wide the cabin door, made a pretense
of emptying just beyond the doorstep the
wooden, trough-like bowl which did duty as a
wash basin. Though he made a brave show of
unconcern, his heart beat hard and fast. But
he was glad to see how totally dark the night
was. One must have been very close indeed if
he had seen John emerge from the darkness of
the lean-to into the equal blackness without, he
thought. Surely the Indians, if still watching,
would never suspect him going out that way,
and not having seen him at all would be very
certain that he had been gone for a full day at
least, should they call at the cabin and still not
discover him.

Despite the storm, the night was warm for
so late in the season, and Kingdom was glad to
have the door ajar while he waited for the first
step which would tell him of the Indians’ coming.
He had no doubt they would come, unless
their general plan was quite different from
what he supposed it to be. Still, time dragged
on bringing no tidings—no sound but the drip,
drip of the rain, the sad sighing of the wind
and now and then the rattle of some loose
puncheon on the roof, moved by a passing gust
more lively than the rest.

Again and again Ree mentally computed the
distance John had probably traveled in the time
that he had been gone. “Now he must be just
about at the foot of the bluff and creeping along
the water’s edge, shielded by the higher bank
of the river,” he thought at first. “Now he
must be half-way to the woods. Now, if nothing
has happened, he is past the worst of the danger
and safe among the trees.”

And so thinking, encouraged by the absence
of any alarming sound, Kingdom breathed
easier, and was glad John had gone along the
river instead of trying to cross the stream just
at the cabin’s rear and so gain the cover of the
trees more quickly, as he had originally proposed,
and would have done but for the possibility
that even on the opposite bank of the
stream there were watchers in hiding.

But safe and certain as John’s escape seemed
to Ree, the truth was that during these past few
minutes that young man had been in decidedly
greater danger of losing his scalp than he cared
ever to be again.

Creeping on hands and knees close to the wall
whose dark background would help conceal his
movements, John had made his way out of the
barn and around to the rear of the cabin. Almost
flat on his stomach, he drew himself slowly
along the bluff and so descended to the valley
where the river bank was not nearly so steep
and comparatively low, rising only a few feet
above the level of the water. Crawling cautiously
along the narrow strip of slippery beach
between the river’s edge and the bank, he progressed
steadily toward the woods. Often he
paused to listen, and even when he moved on
again he strained his ears and tried his utmost
to see; but so deep was the darkness that, except
for the denser black wall in the distance,
which he felt rather than saw was the woods,
he was certain that his situation, so far as seeing
went, would be the same with his eyes shut
as with them wide open.

In one of his pauses to hearken closer than
he could do when moving, John thought he
heard a low, hoarse “Ugh!”—an inarticulate
sound, but one which seemed to express impatience,
weariness, and “What’s the use?” combined.
He fancied he could see the shrug of
the Indian’s shoulders who, he was sure, was
responsible for the guttural noise. For a long
time the boy did not move. The rain came dripping
down almost noiselessly. The wind whispered
ever so softly in the lower parts of the
valley and seemed to make no sound whatever
save in the woods. To John it seemed that he
waited an hour, though in fact it was but a few
minutes. Over his shoulder he could see the
ray of light from the cabin’s open door. How
far away it looked! Still that was fortunate.
He would not have had it nearer for a great
deal. Now he would try again. Softly—softly
he raised one hand from the ground; softly,
softly he raised a foot.

“Ugh!” Again it came; scarcely audible was
the sound but the fierce howl of a wolf directly
in his ears would not have startled, and frightened
more the young white man crouching by
the water.

The danger seemed nearer now—not more
than three yards from him, John was certain—perhaps
only two. He felt that he could put out
his hand and touch the place from which it
came. Again he was quiet, so quiet that he
breathed in noiseless little gasps, a thing so
trying on his throat and lungs that he would
have felt as comfortable had he tried not to
breathe at all.

But soon came another sound. Instantly
John recognized it—the stealthy dipping of the
paddle and low murmur of water against the
nose of a canoe. Where was the canoe headed?
That was the question. Toward him? Either
that or up stream. The murmur of the current
indicated that the craft ran not with it but
against it. Now he heard the canoe touch the
half submerged grass close in to shore. It was
just abreast of him and within two arms’ length.
Now it grated ever so lightly upon the grass
which, before the fall rains, had been quite up
out of the water.

Again light as a feather came the dip of the
paddle, again the soft murmur of the water
barely heard above the quiet, even patter of the
rain. At the same moment John felt himself
slipping. Slowly the wet ground was giving
way beneath him. He must move. It was a
case of two dangers, either stand still and slide
violently into the river, or move on a step and—

He must run the risk. Faster and faster he
was sliding down. He must step quickly, and
step quickly he did. He made no noise himself,
he thought, but some pebble or bit of earth,
loosened by his movement, rolled down and
dropped with a splash into the water.
Again came the muttered “Ugh!” something
lower than before, and oh! Heaven be praised!
no longer abreast but some yards from him.

Again came the low dipping of the paddle.
They were patrolling the river for him, John
knew now; but they would not find him. They
might paddle silently up and down the whole
night long, if they wished. In fact he rather
hoped they would, and chuckled inwardly at the
thought.

CHAPTER VI—“THE WITCH IS HIDDEN HERE.”
======================================

That part of Lone-Elk’s band which had been
appointed to hide along the river bank throughout
the day and paddle up and down in the
densest shadows of the shores when night had
come, did not keep up their search as long as
John had hoped they would, when he silently
chuckled over the thought of their waste of
time and effort.

When they passed so close to the lad they
sought, not more than one of them suspecting
how very near he was, the Delawares were closing
in on the cabin, together with others on
shore. Lone-Elk had given the signal, by passing
the word quietly along the irregular line
his braves made around the clearing, after waiting
all day long. He hoped to find the “witch”
in hiding in the little cabin. Even if he did not,
he would impress the Delawares with the
seeming truth of the charge he had made against the
young white man by showing that he was away
from home, engaged, presumably, in some of
his dreadful witch’s work. The Seneca had,
moreover, a plan in mind which made a visit to
the home of the young Palefaces desirable from
his point of view, whether the one they sought
should be discovered or not, and now would be
as good a time as any for the carrying out of his
purpose.

While the Indians were yet at a distance,
Kingdom, watching and listening in the cabin,
heard their approach. He had kept his rifle
close at hand all day, and now he casually
picked the weapon up and with a show of idle
carelessness polished its glossy stock with a
bit of buckskin.

The savages came silently on, apparently
without effort to keep from being heard. Kingdom
was aware that they kept their line spread
out so as to form a semicircle which, together
with the river, would wholly enclose the little
log house. His sharp ears assured him that
this was done, but it was with well acted surprise
that he sprang lightly up and stepped toward
the door when Lone-Elk and one other
Indian showed themselves at last within the
dim ray of light shining from the fireplace.

“Come in! It’s wet and bad outside! Bring
them all in!” he called pleasantly, meeting the
Seneca at the threshold and glancing out as if
he plainly saw the whole line of Indians outside,
which in fact he did not see at all.

“White Fox speaks kindly,” answered Lone-Elk,
calling Ree by the name the Delawares had
long ago given him.

Only the Seneca and the one other Indian
drew near the lighted space about the door,
however, and these two now entered as if they
were quite by themselves.

“Why should I not?” Ree answered to the
Seneca’s remark, noticing as he did so, how
searchingly both the savages were looking about
the cabin’s single room. “We,—my white
brother and myself—have had the friendship of
the Delawares always.”

“It is as the white brother says,” said the
second Indian, a powerful fellow whom Kingdom
now recognized as a brave from the Delaware
town on the Muskingum, and whom he had
seen a number of times before. As he spoke,
this Indian looked at Lone-Elk inquiringly.
Perhaps the Seneca considered his words a
challenge. At any rate he said sharply:

“Where is the other white brother! Does
the White Fox wish to hide him then, if he is
the friend of the Delawares? Will the White
Fox hide the witch that breathed poison breath
upon Big Buffalo, the witch that with a hatchet
killed a Delaware warrior, yet left no mark?”

“What’s this you say? What wild talk is
this, Lone-Elk? Has Lone-Elk drunk of the
firewater that he comes speaking so absurdly?”

Kingdom spoke with a show of temper and in
a manner distinctly creditable to the part he
was bound to act.

“It is the law that witches must be put to
death,” the Seneca returned vigorously.
“Lone-Elk has said that Little Paleface with a
witch’s hatchet killed a Delaware warrior—killed
Big Buffalo. Now must the witch be
given up to the friends of him that was killed.”

“Well, I can only tell you that the one you
call Little Paleface is not here. He is far away
and may not come back for some days,” Kingdom
answered quietly. “Now if Lone-Elk will
believe this, and it is the truth, he will return to
the town of the Delawares and I will myself go
there tomorrow to have a talk. Is it a friendly
thing for Delaware braves to remain hidden all
about the lodge of their Paleface brothers as
they are doing now? Let them all come into
the light. Let them see that my brother who is
accused so falsely—so unfairly and so unjustly—let
them see, I say, that he is not here, and we
will plan to have a talk tomorrow.”

Lone-Elk gave a short, fierce whoop. Instantly
fifteen or more Indians rushed into the cabin,
crowding-the little room quite uncomfortably.

“The witch is hidden,” said Lone-Elk, loudly.
“If the Little Paleface is here let him show
himself.”

As Kingdom looked quickly from one to another
of the Indians he observed with sorrow
that Fishing Bird was among them. Had this
good fellow turned against his white friends,
too? But no, that quick friendly look as their
eyes met was proof of his friendship still.

There being no answer to the Seneca’s invitation
to Little Paleface to show himself, except
the grunted “Ughs!” of some of the Delawares,
Lone-Elk sprang quickly up the ladder of poles
and peered into the loft. Others followed his
example, climbing up on stools or by the aid of
the roughness of the wall. Some looked up the
chimney. Some searched here, some there. One
party of five or six, lighting hickory bark
torches at the fire, went into the barn. In five
minutes the whole cabin was turned topsy-turvy.

“You see it is just as I told you in the beginning,”
said Kingdom in a friendly tone, but
somewhat impatiently. “Now will you not consent
to a talk! Let it be in the Council House
of the Delawares—let it be any place you
choose. I think I can prove to you that this
charge of witchcraft is placed against one who
is as true and honest as ever man could be.”

Ree was sorry to see that the Delawares
looked to Lone-Elk to answer. He had more
fear of this one Indian, under the circumstances,
than of any other half dozen warriors
in Captain Pipe’s town.

“Let it be as the White Fox says,” the Seneca
answered. “Yet will my Paleface brother not
deceive himself by thinking he deceives Lone-Elk.
The Paleface witch but hides. If it is not
so, let the witch come to the talk.”

Not for a second did Kingdom allow this challenge
to be unanswered. Like a flash every eye
had turned to him; but instantly he said:

“Will the Seneca go to Fort Pitt and there
put Little Paleface on trial before those whose
customs are the customs of the Palefaces? No,
of course he will not. And just so would it not
be fair for Lone-Elk to demand more than he
would be willing himself to give.”

.. _`He kept his eyes on the Seneca unceasingly`:

.. figure:: images/illus-090.jpg
   :figclass: illustration
   :align: center
   :alt: HE KEPT HIS EYES ON THE SENECA UNCEASINGLY.

   HE KEPT HIS EYES ON THE SENECA UNCEASINGLY.

The justice of Kingdom’s position was clear
to the majority of the Indians and he could not
help but notice it; still Lone-Elk’s reply in curt,
surly tones was far from pleasing.

“Yet the White Fox asks for a talk! Like
squaws that tell one another of the worms that
harmed the corn does the Paleface want the
Delawares to meet together with him and speak
idle words! Words! Words, that mean nothing
and come to nothing.”

With a move of his hand to his companions
to follow, the Seneca left the cabin. Rapidly
the other Indians marched off in single file after
him. Fishing Bird, somehow, was the last to
leave. As he went out of the door, he cast a
glance of friendliness, which was also a look of
warning, to Ree and the peace of mind of that
young gentleman was not increased thereby.

By no means certain that the Indians would
not return, Kingdom sat for a long time on the
edge of his bunk, listening and thinking. He
had great satisfaction in knowing that John
was comparatively safe for the time, at least,
and thankful, indeed, that his chum’s departure
had been so timely. He longed for another and
more satisfactory talk with Fishing Bird. He
must have such a talk, he resolved, if it could
by any chance be arranged, before he undertook
to show the Delawares that Big Buffalo
had not been killed by witchcraft. Perhaps that
friendly fellow would be able to give him the
right clue to the whole situation. Might it not be
he would frankly declare that it was by the hand
of Lone-Elk, himself, that the warrior’s life had
been snuffed out!

In his own mind Ree had little doubt concerning
the true cause of Big Buffalo’s death; but
by what means the Seneca had put out of his
way the one member of Captain Pipe’s community
who openly resented his leadership
there would most probably be a difficult question
to answer.

So the lonely lad sat pondering a long time;
how long he did not know or care. The rain
was still falling, the wind still sighing dolefully
when he arose at last, closed and barred the
door, also barred the opening which served as
a window, and removing only his moccasins lay
down to rest. Repeatedly did he picture to his
mind’s eye John Jerome tramping slowly,
silently through the wet leaves, among the dripping
underbrush and trees, stopping often to
get his bearings from the wind, and so making
his weary and most lonesome way to the protection
they had agreed upon.

Repeatedly his thoughts returned to the “big
talk” which he must attend tomorrow; but
sound sleep came to him at last, even while a
crouching figure moved swiftly and stealthily
into the clearing and paused as if in hiding behind
a shock of corn—the very one on which the
crow had perched in the afternoon—then stole
on again and disappeared.

Even as the first object appeared, another
approached the cabin and moved to the protection
of the darker shadows of the stable. For
a minute or two the figure stood quiet in the
denser darkness beside the building, then
moved cautiously toward the little cornfield as
if attracted by a faint rustle of corn leaves
which seemed to come from that vicinity.

The rain still fell in a quiet, unbroken drizzle,
but the wind had abated and there was no reason
to suppose that it caused the movement of
the corn, which attracted the attention of the
crouching creature. Still listening with utmost
care, the crouching figure moved nearer to the
spot from which the noise ensued.

To discern any object that was without motion,
at a distance of even a few feet in the pitch
darkness, was an impossibility; but as the rustling
of the corn ceased, the one who had been
attracted by the sound made out a stealthy
movement in the vicinity and instantly stood
still. When the darker shadow had passed beyond
his vision he dropped to the ground and
listened with his ear against the wet grass and
earth. After a time he rose and ran forward
ever so lightly, pausing at the edge of the woods.

Hour after hour passed. A dull gray light
appeared on the clouds to the east. Rising then,
and stretching himself, the silent watcher with
frequent looks toward every point went directly
to the barn built up against the white boys’
cabin, opened the door and leaving it slightly
ajar, sat down upon the floor in such a way that
he could command a view of the greater part of
the clearing.

The opening of the door of the barn made
Return Kingdom move, sound asleep though he
was, and directly he awoke, conscious of having
heard some disturbing sound. What it was he
did not know. For a time he listened, but finding
that drowsiness was overcoming him, he
roused himself with a sudden determination to
investigate.

Springing up quietly, Kingdom put on his
moccasins and opening a loophole, peeped out.
Though still very dark inside the cabin, he
could make out principal objects in the clearing,
and noted nothing in the least unusual. Suppressing
a most sleepy yawn, he decided to
creep into his bunk and forget his troubles in
restful unconsciousness until broad daylight
came.

Very likely the noise which had wakened him
was made by one of the horses, the lad thought.
He peeped into the stable through a chink in
the wall. Discovering immediately that the
door of the lean-to was open, and remembering
that he had closed it as usual, he was alarmed
at once. He seized his rifle, unbarred the cabin
door and rushed out.

As he swung wide the door of the stable, to
learn the cause of it not being properly closed,
a hand was held out to him and its mate was
raised in a sign of silence.

Startled, Kingdom stepped back a pace, but
before the other could speak he had recovered
himself.

“Fishing Bird!” he exclaimed. “What in
the world are you doing here at such a time as
this, Fishing Bird?”

CHAPTER VII—THE SECRET LEAD MINE
================================

“Listen, White Fox, listen, my Paleface
brother,” said Fishing Bird softly as he took
Kingdom’s hand and drew him gently into the
barn; then dropping his voice to a whisper:

“Lone-Elk has been here. All night did Fishing
Bird watch and follow him. Then Fishing
Bird hid here for maybe Lone-Elk be coming
back when white brother still was sleeping.
Morning comes now. No more danger.”

How to thank this friendly Indian Ree did
not know. As he realized the hardship Fishing
Bird had undergone to guard him from the wily,
crafty Seneca, his voice trembled with emotion
in trying to express his gratitude. Almost in
the same breath he begged further information
and an explanation of Lone-Elk’s presence;
asked to know how, in the darkness, the Delaware
had been able to watch him without being
himself discovered. Where had Lone-Elk gone?
Why had he come at all?

Seated on a little mound of hay, well within
the stable yet where he could readily see out,
and dividing his attention between the clearing
and Kingdom, who sat beside him, Fishing
Bird told his story.

He had feared from the beginning that his
warning to the two white boys to flee would be
unheeded, he said, and so determined, since he
could give them no assistance, that he would at
least keep his eyes on Lone-Elk. The Delawares
had accepted the proposal of the Seneca
that the death of Big Buffalo be not allowed to
break up the Harvest Festival entirely, and so
the night of the feast day had been spent in
merry-making, as the custom was.

With but little rest the morning after the
festival, however, Fishing Bird went on in his
own simple but honest way. Lone-Elk, calling
on as many as wished to do so to accompany
him, had set out for the house of the Palefaces.
It was his purpose first to locate Little
Paleface and catch him off his guard, lest by witchcraft
he should bring harm to the Indians before
they could lay hands on him, Fishing Bird
explained. So all day the Indians had watched
the cabin and kept themselves hidden so that
they would not easily be seen even if in approaching
their home the boys should come
upon them suddenly from behind.

Lone-Elk told the Delawares that a crow,
which flew down in the cornfield, was almost
certainly Little Paleface himself, and as night
came on he assured them that the witch would
either be found in the cabin in the natural
form of a man or be caught trying to escape in
the form of a bird.

Some had asked why the witch would not
simply become an animal or a cloud or some
such thing and so easily evade them, but the
Seneca’s only answer to this was a growl at
their ignorance and a hint that only children
asked such questions.

Much that Fishing Bird told him was so nearly
the same as Kingdom had previously guessed
that the information was in no way surprising.
But one thing which did surprise and interest
him a great deal was the friendly Delaware’s
account of the escape of John Jerome.

Fishing Bird, having no belief in Lone-Elk’s
talk of witchcraft and being anxious to aid in
the escape, rather than the capture of the so-called
witch, was even more intent in watching
all that went on than were any of the others,
Lone-Elk excepted. In this way he accounted
for his discovery of some object beside the river
bank in the darkness as he and two other Delawares
were paddling noiselessly toward the
cabin—an object which he partially recognized,
though none of the others so much as suspected
its presence. Solely for the purpose of giving
warning he had made sounds which would be
heard and which, he was certain, had been
heeded.

Ree could only thank his loyal friend again
and again and he did not hesitate to tell the
faithful fellow that he had almost certainly
saved John Jerome from capture. This pleased
Fishing Bird greatly. His pleasure was quite
equal to that of a child which is praised for some
duty well done.

“In fact,” added Kingdom, putting his hand
gratefully on the Delaware’s arm, “we can
never begin to pay you back for all you have
done for us. But still you can help us so much
more that I want to feel that I can depend on
you. I won’t ask anything of you which is going
to get you into trouble, and if I do, you
must tell me. Neither do I want you to do anything
or tell me anything which you do not feel
that you can willingly do or tell. Is this fair
and friendly, Fishing Bird?”

The Indian thoughtfully nodded.

“First then, why did Lone-Elk come back
here in the night?”

The Delaware did not know and said so.

“I can guess that, anyhow,” Kingdom went
on. “But here’s a more important question,
Fishing Bird. Who, or what, do you think,
killed Big Buffalo?”

The Indian shook his head. Kingdom
scarcely knew whether he meant that he did not know
or that he did not wish to tell. But he tried another
question.

“Was it Lone-Elk?”

For a second or two there was no reply.
“Yes, maybe Lone-Elk killed Big Buffalo,”
came the answer, but the tone even more than
the words expressed doubt.

“Well, can you tell me this, Fishing Bird:
What is the secret of the Seneca’s power among
the Delawares and why is he a wanderer and
an outcast from his own nation and his own
tribe? We all know that he is a sort of a fugitive,
yet even Captain Pipe allows him the
greatest liberty.”

“Listen,” said the Indian slowly and solemnly,
“Paleface brothers must see always that no
hurt comes to Lone-Elk, the Seneca. Yes, Lone-Elk
is hated and Lone-Elk is hunted by his own
people; but listen, White Fox, listen to this:
Lone-Elk and no other knows where much lead
for bullets is hidden in the ground. To Captain
Pipe and to all the Delawares Lone-Elk brings
lead—sometimes bullets, too—always lead. No,
no! Lone-Elk will never show where lead comes
from, so must no hurt come to him. Anything
Paleface brother asks will Fishing Bird do, but
if Lone-Elk dies who will know where lead is
found! Lead placed in the ground by the Great
Spirit for his children, the Delawares; for that
is as Lone-Elk tells them.”

Kingdom could not help smiling slightly at
the simple earnestness of the Indian, but he was
interested, too, greatly interested. Once or
twice before he had heard Delawares make
secret references to the finding of lead in the
earth somewhere in the locality of the Cuyahoga
river. Now he was convinced that a mine existed,
the location of which was known only to
the scheming Seneca.

“So that is why Captain Pipe harbors the
fellow though he knows that his history is so
bad,” spoke Kingdom, partly to the Indian,
partly to himself.

“White Fox knows how all the Indians look
always now for much powder—much lead,” the
Delaware returned. He was thinking of the
trouble along the border and the fighting which
was sure to follow the march of “Mad
Anthony” Wayne’s army into the Indian country
to avenge the killing of so many of St.
Clair’s men the year before.

Kingdom read Fishing Bird’s meaning easily
as print, though never until now had he realized
how fully the redskins were planning for the
expected battle, nor guessed how completely
posted they were concerning the probable object
of the troops Wayne was assembling on
the Ohio below Fort Pitt.

“But you followed the Seneca, Fishing Bird.
You watched him nearly all night, you say.
Tell me, then, if Lone-Elk must not be harmed,
what can you do, what am I to do if he makes
trouble? Are we to let him drive Little Paleface
from home—and me too? For of course
if my friend cannot be with me, I shall not wish
to stay here.”

The friendly Delaware shrugged his shoulders
and looked puzzled. Glancing up, however,
and seeing that Kingdom was waiting for him
to answer, he slowly shook his head. “Maybe
White Fox can find how Big Buffalo died.
Maybe Palefaces can tell Captain Pipe that and
then Lone-Elk can talk of witches no more.”

“Yes, but what if Lone-Elk kills somebody
before somebody can do this?” Ree inquired.

“When Lone-Elk comes to do that then Lone-Elk
must be killed,” Fishing Bird admitted
rather reluctantly. But to show that he meant
what he said, he now told at some length how
he had followed the Seneca from the Delaware
village all the way back to the cabin of the two
white boys, when he found the crafty fellow
stealing away after the return from the fruitless
watch and search for John Jerome the preceding
day and night. He left no room for
doubt that he would have given Kingdom warning
of the fellow’s presence if necessary; but
Ree could not help but believe that his friend
had also some other reason for spying upon
Lone-Elk’s movements.

“This ‘talk’ I am to have with your people
today,—will it do any good, Fishing Bird?”
Kingdom at last inquired.

“All the Delawares ask how came Big Buffalo
to die,” was the Indian’s only answer; and
presently, though Kingdom asked him to remain,
he slipped away, and wading the river
at a place not usually used for crossing, quickly
disappeared in the thick brush of the western
bank.

In spite of the restless night he had spent
and his weariness and anxiety, Ree made all
possible haste with his breakfast and morning
work in house and barn and hastened away to
meet John Jerome. He must carry some provisions
to him and let him know all that he had
heard before starting for the Delaware town.

The distance to the place of meeting which
the two boys had finally agreed upon was four
miles or more, the spot a well hidden gully running
back from the river until it lost itself in a
dense growth of underbrush. From the midst
of this matted mass there sprang up a great
hollow whitewood tree with a large opening at
the base. The lads had once hidden some traps
there and knew the place well. In this natural
shelter they would be quite free from possible
observation, and anything left there would be
little likely to be found by straggling Indians
hunting in the vicinity.

With much anxiety Kingdom approached the
meeting place. The day had come on dull and
cloudy but still and in the vast silence of the
leaf-carpeted forest the moist air made his
every footfall seemingly loud and heavy. Yet
listen as he did, even holding his breath, Ree
heard not a sound to indicate that he would find
John waiting for him. This was the more surprising
because of Jerome’s customary carelessness
so far as being very quiet was concerned.

Even when he reached the thicket in which
the old whitewood stood, Kingdom listened in
vain for the slightest signal to indicate that his
coming was expected. He had had no doubt
John would be at the place long before he himself
arrived. What else would he have to do
save wait and watch?

“Covered his trail better than he usually does
if he has been anywhere near here!” Ree ejaculated
beneath his breath when, after making the
entire circuit of the mass of underbrush, he
found nothing. Heavy hearted, he sat down
with his back to a large maple to wait.

Now what Kingdom should have done, of
course, was to make his investigation thorough
before he concluded that John had not come.
Ordinarily he would have done so—would have
gone to the bottom of the subject before he
reached a final conclusion; but as many another
has done before and since he let a peck of
troubles become greater still by shouldering
some with which he might much better not have
burdened himself, taking for granted, as it were,
that trouble was his portion.

It was and is a bad thing to do. The fact was
that while Kingdom waited on and on, trying
not to worry, but thinking very unhappy
thoughts indeed, John Jerome, curled among
some dry leaves in the base of the great hollow
tree, snoozed as composedly as ever he did in
his far away home in Connecticut.

Kingdom rose to his feet. Something must
be done! He shook off his heavy thoughts and
stood for a moment to consider. It was the
movement of his rising, perhaps, that awakened
John. He, also, rose to his feet. He heard
soft footsteps among the leaves and peeped out.
He heard them more plainly and hurried cautiously
to a part of the thicket from which he
could see beyond the brush. There was Kingdom
marching away through the woods as if he
were going somewhere and in a hurry to arrive.

A whistle which might have been the call of
a squirrel sounded. It was a signal both boys
used for each other in the woods, and in another
instant the needless burden had rolled off Ree’s
mind. What a sea of fresh difficulties must certainly
have come to both of them but for the
chance awakening of John, in the nick of time,
the two boys did not long discuss.

“But you would have come into the tree to
leave some grub for me, anyway, Ree,” said
John.

“Hanged if I thought of such a thing!”
Kingdom answered. “You don’t deserve it,
nohow! Going to sleep and keeping me in such
a stew about you!” he added good-naturedly.

The lads were both seated on the ground inside
the protecting whitewood now, and John,
having long since eaten the provisions with
which he left home, was making good use of
those Ree brought. He had, he declared, with
venison in one hand and bread in the other, a
more immoderate appetite than any well-behaved
witch should ever have.

John’s friendly feeling for Fishing Bird was
certainly not diminished by what Ree told him
concerning the good turns the faithful Delaware
had done both of them. He quickly verified the
statement that he had been warned by the voice
of Fishing Bird at the brink of the river the
night before, though he had little suspected the
source from which came the “Ughs” he heard.

More than all else, however, excepting Ree’s
own personal safety at the cabin, was John
interested in the hidden lead mine of which
Lone-Elk alone possessed definite knowledge.
He declared at once his intention of improving
his time in exile by watching the woods for the
Seneca and following him wherever he went.

“You’ll do nothing of the kind, my boy,” said
Kingdom with playful affection, but yet very
earnestly. “I more than half suspect that one
reason Fishing Bird follows and watches Lone-Elk
is the expectation that he will find out
where the mine is. With two of you on the
Seneca’s trail, it is altogether too certain that
he will find you out. And, mark this good
and seriously, John, there’s no doubt whatever
but that Lone-Elk would rather scalp you than
not. I don’t think for a minute, mind you, that
he believes his own witch stories. But he means
business in the whole bad mess he has made for
us. I’m confident he will not bother me very
much, but for all practical purposes he has full
permission and authority to take your topknot
the first chance he gets. It’s the witch law of
pretty much all the Indians and of all the Iroquois.
The Delawares have all the Iroquois
customs from having been subject to them for
so long, years ago. So we know what we will
have to reckon with.”

Jerome was rather inclined to demur but
Kingdom would not hear to arty plan but that
he should remain carefully in hiding.

“Well, then, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” John
suggested, as a final effort to gain more freedom
than Ree believed wise, “I’ll take two or
three days to myself and make a pilgrimage to
the ‘salt lick’ over by the Mahoning river. Oh,
I’ll be wary! I’ll look sharp enough, don’t you
fear!” he added, seeing what Ree was about to
say.

And so it was agreed that while Kingdom
undertook to clear up the mystery of the death
of Big Buffalo, Jerome should keep himself
occupied and out of sight by the journey he
proposed. The plan, like many another plan,
far more carefully deliberated upon, had, as
events proved, a most important bearing on
the future.

But no man can tell what the next day, aye,
the next hour, the next minute, will bring forth,
however much our every act is constantly shaping
the unknown fate and future.

CHAPTER VIII—THE SALT SPRINGS—A STARTLING DISCOVERY
===================================================

Besides the much traveled path extending
south from the river on which the cabin of the
youthful pioneers was situated, to the main
branch of the Muskingum, there was another
thoroughfare of the Indians in the vicinity.
The general direction of its course was east and
west. This trail was not used a great deal, but
it was, for the most part, along its route that
the two boys had first made their way into the
Ohio wilds two years before. At occasional
intervals Delawares and others followed this
path in traveling toward Fort Pitt, or in
journeying from that point to Sandusky and
the country of the Wyandots near the lake,
farther to the west or to the Maumee which lay
beyond.

At a distance of two days’ journey eastward
from the cabin on the Cuyahoga, a branch of
this trail forked off and led on to a much
frequented “salt lick” or spring of salty water,
near the Mahoning river. To this “lick” the
Indians came from far and near to make salt.
Settlers came from great distances, also, especially
in later years, to boil the waters of the
springs, and Kingdom and Jerome had known
of the place for a long time.

Having first heard of the “big lick” from the
Delawares, the boys had verified the information
so obtained by talking with hunters and
traders. Often had they planned to visit the
place. During the winter, when work in their
clearing was less pressing, they frequently had
said they would obtain a year’s supply of salt
for themselves. But that was before trouble
had come to them. What they would do now
must depend entirely upon future developments.

Kingdom saw no good reason for John’s proposed
trip to the “lick,” but neither did he see
a reason for not going; besides, maybe it would
be better for Jerome to be away from the locality
in which such grave danger threatened him,
and the more especially so in view of the temptation
he would have to try to find the secret
lead mine of the outcast Seneca.

Thus the two friends parted. Kingdom had
already lost much time. He feared being late
at the council he was to have with Captain
Pipe’s principal people and much as he would
have liked to go a little way with John, he felt
that he must hurry directly to the cabin.

No sooner was Ree gone from the hollow
whitewood, however, than John Jerome found
interest in the trip to the “lick” suddenly lagging.
It was one thing to talk to his bosom
friend about the undertaking, but quite another
to sit solitary and alone pondering upon its
hardships. But he was in for it now. It most
certainly would not do to give up. Kingdom
would not expect to see him for four or five
days at least, and he would be alone for that
length of time anyway, he reflected. Thus in
a measure he restored his first enthusiasm for
the journey he had so impulsively suggested,
and ten minutes later was on the way.

To have followed the old trail which led
toward the salt spring would have been, from
John’s starting point, considerably out of his
way. It lay much to the south. To travel
through the unbroken woods would be harder
but it would likewise be safer and the latter
was an important point to consider. So through
the woods, setting himself to make nearly a bee
line to the east, the lonesome young woodsman
tramped. Sleep and food had much refreshed
him after the labor and the adventures of the
night, however, and except for the sense of loneliness
and something of worry and anxiety concerning
Kingdom’s safety, which hung heavily
upon his thoughts, he would have been in fine
spirits.

John was quite familiar with that portion of
the woods which he was now traversing. It was
not far from here that he had been held captive
in the cave where dwelt Duff and Dexter.
Over to the right a mile or so was the spot
where the unscrupulous Duff, himself, had been
forced to surrender and beg for his very life.
On ahead was the little lake where Captain
Brady had hidden, a number of years before.
John and Ree had hunted up the place one
time, just to see the spot after hearing of
Brady’s wonderful leap and exciting adventure
from some settlers near Fort Pitt.

The leaves underfoot and all the great forest
stretching away for miles on every side were
still wet from the drenching rain of the previous
night. Any trail made the day before must
needs have been well marked or all traces of it
would be now obliterated. John thought of
this as in the course of the day’s travel he
twice came upon signs which seemed to tell of
some person or persons having passed through
much the same portion of the wilds as he was
traveling, within a few days at most. One sign
of this kind was a freshly cut mark of a hatchet
upon a great, smooth-barked beech. Another
was the presence of one small stone beside a
large one and a small quantity of hickory nut
shells.

No thought of danger because of these
indications that there were other travelers in the
woods came to Jerome. The mark upon the
beech tree might have been made by anyone,
white man or red. It merely showed that some
one had recently been there. Likewise the nut
shells may have been left by a chance hunter
or even by a party of them. Still, having found
these signs, and feeling quite interested in discovering
more of them, some which might
reveal more definite facts perhaps, as the ashes
of a campfire, for example, John looked keenly
in all directions as he tramped on and on. But
he saw nothing and the necessity of searching
for something he deemed more important—a
safe and comfortable place to spend the night—caused
him to turn his thoughts to other things
as the short fall day drew early to a close.

A tangled mass of wild grapevines hanging
over a little gully, and sheltering it alike from
wind and rain, seemed to offer a good prospect,
but turned out a disappointment. The ground,
on being inspected, proved exceedingly wet. So
on John went. Once he paused beside the
thickly spreading branches of a maple, which
had been uprooted by some summer storm, and
contemplated lying down among the leaves the
breezes had collected there. But he shook his
head and passed by.

“Why the very mischief I ever thought of
coming on this wild goose chase I don’t know,
I vow!” the young wayfarer grumbled to himself,
with a grim frown.

He was thinking of the snug little log house
and the warm supper and warm bed he might
have had in prospect. Even the shelter of the
projecting ledge of rock, whose protection he
had had the night before, seemed very attractive
now. “And the old hollow poplar, that
would be quite a lord mayor’s mansion, for a
fact it would!” he told himself. “But there’s
no use fussing for what you haven’t got and
can’t have,” he added, with a philosophy which
many an older man has never learned, and
walked on the faster.

Only once or twice before had John spent a
night in the open woods without Kingdom for
company, and though he was not afraid, he
dreaded the hours of darkness and the lonesome,
cheerless night now just before him more
and more as the shadows thickened.

“Howl away, you pesky rascals! Howl away!
But you don’t know what you’re howling for!”
he burst out almost spitefully as the yelping of
wolves reached his ears. “I’m not going to
climb a tree on your account—not if I don’t
have to,” he added, making the latter saving
clause barely audible, even to himself.

A strange place for a night’s rest it was
which John selected at last as a final choice.
“But,” as he reasoned with his protesting,
tired-out body, “you’ve got to take what you
can get and take it mighty quick at that, if you
are going to see what you’re getting.”

The resting place thus selected was a chestnut
tree which sent out four branches a few
feet above the ground, each as large as an ordinary
tree, and each spreading broadly in a different
direction from the others. The effect
was to form at the place from which the
branches projected a seat by no means uncomfortable
and having the advantage of being high
and dry, at least. Indeed, John found that by
sitting astride of one great limb and leaning
against another, he not only maintained his balance
easily but rested comparatively well. With
his blanket wrapped round him and over his
head like a hood, he ate his supper of dried
venison, wished he had a drink, decided it was
too much trouble to go for one, fell to thinking
of the absurdity of Lone-Elk’s accusations and
drifted off to sleep.

Before morning John felt severely the effects
of being so long in one position, but nothing
worse disturbed him. He heard wild creatures
of the forest all about at different times in the
night, but even had human eyes come very close
they would hardly have seen in the thick darkness
the solitary figure perched in the chestnut’s
forks. But it was a genuine luxury to be
on the ground and feel the cushions of leaves-underfoot
once more; and so it was, while he
strode steadily forward, facing always the east,
that John ate his meager breakfast.

Watchful as he always was to obtain fresh
clues to the presence of others than himself in
any portion of the woods, John still found nothing
to interest him particularly. In the afternoon
he came upon a runway of the deer, and
confident from its general trend that it led
toward the salt springs, he followed it. He
came upon various indications that the path had
been used by two-footed as well as four-footed
creatures. Once he found the skeleton of a
large buck. Near by was a sapling which had
been bent down over the path, and a long withe
made into a noose close at hand, showed how
the poor creature died.

None of the things he saw, however, conveyed
to John any thought but that he must be nearing
the salt “lick” now; and that perhaps he
would find some one there, and would do well
to be very careful as he approached, not knowing
whom he might find, and being somewhat
particular who might find him.

Even when he picked up a buckskin glove
with spatters of blood upon it beside the runway,
John had no presentiment of what was to
come. He only muttered: “White folks at the
spring now, or have been there not long ago, at
least. Settlers, probably. You don’t catch anybody
else putting on mittens before it has even
snowed. What a big hand he had!”

The concluding exclamation followed the trying
on of the glove. It was, indeed, a large one,
and because of its size and not knowing just
where to carry it, John was inclined to throw
it down by the path and leave it; but he reconsidered
and tucked the buckskin in his belt. He
found it there, convenient for reference, when a
decidedly startling discovery somewhat later
brought the glove very forcibly to his recollection.

The runway of the deer brought the boy at
last to a considerable stream which he rightly
guessed to be the river, known to the Indians
then and to everyone now as the Mahoning.
The path skirted its banks for some distance,
then turned into the woods again, leading on to
the springs of slightly salty water which lay at
no great distance.

Only by hard traveling had John reached the
place before nightfall, but he was thankful for
his rare good fortune in doing so. To spend
several hours at least in locating the “lick,”
after he had come fairly into its vicinity, was
what he had expected, and now to come directly
to the spot was indeed lucky. He had never
seen the place before but he could not doubt
the evidence that lay on every hand. Indeed, he
was greatly surprised to find so many indications
that the springs were often visited.

They lay in an open space of two or three
acres, grown up to low bushes and rank grass,
save for the paths where the ground had been
tramped bare by the deer and other animals.
In several places were the ashes of long-deserted
campfires. Near the border of the clearing
were two or three rough, quickly-erected
log cabins. But these also, were deserted, and
toppling over from neglect. The spring or
springs—for the water seemed to bubble forth
in two or three places—were enclosed by heavy
planks, hewed from whole trees, forming a vat
nearly six paces square, as John measured it,
and rather more than three feet deep. This
vat was sunk in the ground and as the astonished
young visitor lay down to drink from it,
what was his surprise to discover two large iron
kettles at its bottom, plainly visible in the clear,
sparkling water.

With rare interest the young explorer looked
upon his discoveries. Another thing which
much attracted him were pits that had been dug
as hiding places by hunters, wherein they lay
in wait for the coming of deer to the springs at
night. These may have been the work of white
men or of Indians, for it was not many miles,
John knew, to the old Indian village which he
had heard called Mahoning Town. He doubted
if many Indians lived there, now, however,—not
more than one or two families at most he
thought—for at this distance from the border,
the homes of the Mingoes, which once had been
occupied, were already falling to ruins. The
inhabitants of the villages had moved farther
into the wilderness or were scattered and there
seldom remained so much as a dog to bark at
strangers.

John was somewhat disappointed to find no
white person or persons near, and no sign that
any had been there since the rain of the second
night before, at least. But it was lucky, on the
other hand, that he found no hostile Indians
there, and just at that time it would have been
pretty hard to tell which redskins were hostile
and which were not, unless one personally knew
them.

So, having satisfied himself that neither
friend nor foe was in the vicinity, the interested
young discoverer again drank heartily of the
spring’s very pleasant waters and then calmly
sat down at some little distance to rest and survey
the situation more leisurely than he had
done at first.

The salt “lick” or spring was somewhat to
one side of a wide, shallow valley. The extent
to which the vicinity had been frequented had
caused many trees and much brush to be
cleared away, as in the course of time they had
been burned and chopped down to provide wood
for the making of salt or the building of huts.
The effect was to make the woods quite open all
about the little clearing. But, notwithstanding,
it was a very desolate, lonely spot. The wind
blew in a most melancholy manner and the impression
came to John that the springs were
haunted. Surely if ghosts ever appeared anywhere
in the whole vast wilderness, here was a
place which seemed the very one at which they
would assemble. But it was for the sake of
security from being found by living visitors to
the “lick” that the lad decided he would do well
to go farther into the forest to spend the night.
This he did, and as it was now dusk, he sought
a safe resting place with great eagerness.

Knowing that creatures of all sorts would be
likely to come to the spring after darkness set
in—even buffalos, though they were exceedingly
rare in these parts, John was well aware—the
lad had no excuse to make to his courage in
looking for a tree which would offer a comfortable
perch. This he failed to find, but high up
on the hillside to the east of the “lick” he
found, as he searched further, a rude shack or
shelter built up with poles and brush, probably
by salt boilers. At least there was a considerable
bed of ashes in front of the open side of
the brush wind-shield, and under cover and comparatively
dry was a bed of small boughs,
leaves and long, wild grass, such as grew in the
valley below.

The effect of this discovery upon John
Jerome was to make him feel quite at home.
The dreary prospect of spending an uncomfortable
night vanished. If others had found it
safe to have a campfire and sleep like civilized
mortals, why should not he? A campfire and all
the comforts of the brush house should be his,
he instantly decided, let the consequences be
what they might. So the next half hour was
busily spent in gathering firewood.

With dry leaves and powder and the exercise
of patience, born of the days which knew not
matches, John kindled his fire. He chose not
to risk more than a small blaze, however, and
by starting it very close to the front of the
shack made its ruddy glow scarcely visible from
one direction, at least. The principal advantage
of this was in having the fire close to him as
he lay on the bed of tender boughs; still he was
glad to think that he was “being prudent,” as
Return Kingdom would wish him to be, though
he smiled at the thought.

Good, honest fatigue and a clear conscience
put John to sleep early, despite the troubled
state of his mind whenever he thought of his
enforced absence from the only home he had.
If prowlers of any kind, man or beast, were
near him while darkness lasted, he did not know
it. He awoke to find the dawn breaking and,
knowing that he must soon start back to keep
his appointment with Ree, set out at once for
another inspection of the salt spring and its
surroundings.

How he chanced to come upon it or what
prompted him to pause before it, there is no
necessity of telling, but certain it is that when
about to leave the spring, John found at a distance
of forty rods to the west of the “lick,”
on a slight rise of ground, a pile of brush in
the midst of a sumac thicket.

“How did it get there and what’s the purpose
of it?” he asked himself, wondering if it
were not a trap for wild turkeys.

With a determination to find an answer to his
questions, he pushed in among the bushes and
pulled the low brush pile to one side.

A ghastly sight confronted him. Dead, their
skins discolored, their clothing hanging loosely
on their gaunt bodies, stiff and cold, their scalps
gone, were two men—two young men—who, it
was evident, had come from the settlements.

CHAPTER IX—THE EVIL POWER OF LONE-ELK
=====================================

Perspiring and thirsty after his long, rapid
walk from the hollow poplar to the cabin, Kingdom
would gladly have rested before going on
to the town of the Delawares, but the day was
already well advanced and he must hurry.
Stopping only for a drink of water, therefore,
and to assure himself that nothing had been disturbed
in his absence, he saddled Phoebe and
was away again.

The boy had been thinking much of all that
he meant to say to Captain Pipe and his counselors
and the subject still occupied him as he
drew near the Indian village. He glanced
anxiously about, wondering if he would be met
by any such warning as had come to him the
day before, but saw no one. Going on to the
straggling little collection of huts of bark and
skins which comprised the town, however, he
was soon greeted by Captain Pipe himself and a
score of warriors. The manner of the Indians
was very formal and cool, yet not especially
unfriendly, Kingdom thought, and he felt sure
that if it were not for Lone-Elk he could win all
the friends of the dead Big Buffalo over to his
side and persuade them that witchcraft had not
been the cause of death.

Lone-Elk was not present when Kingdom
arrived, but scarcely had the lad tied his horse
when the Seneca came stalking forth from his
lodge, a wigwam made of skins, and followed
the chief and the other Indians as they led the
way with Ree to the Council House. The latter
building was the same as that in which the
religious exercises of the Harvest Festival were
held and has been sufficiently described.

Captain Pipe and his followers ranged themselves
in a wide semicircle at one side of the
long, low structure and Kingdom sat opposite
them. Lone-Elk was at the extreme left of the
line of warriors on the chief’s right. He had
not spoken to the white visitor, nor did he now
deign to take any notice of him. In all respects
his conduct and general bearing were not only
insolent but ugly to the point of savage hostility.

When all were seated, Captain Pipe briefly
said that the council was ready to hear any message
or statement which the Paleface visitor
wished to present.

Kingdom had hoped he would have an opportunity
to learn something more than he yet
knew as to the circumstances of Big Buffalo’s
death before the council convened, but there
had been no time for this, and he could but make
the best of his situation.

Rising, Ree saluted the Indians very respectfully
and began what proved to be a really able
speech, though he had little supposed that so
much formality would be observed in the
“talk” he had asked to have. From quiet,
slowly spoken words, Kingdom advanced by
degrees to louder tones and greater vehemence,
and he had, he was glad to see, the respectful
attention of every Indian present, not excepting
Lone-Elk.

On the latter’s face an expression of indifferent
insolence changed to one of very attentive
thoughtfulness. He realized that here was a
force and an appeal to the reason and intelligence
of the Delawares which might very
easily prove the undoing of his schemes and his
accusations and possibly end most unfortunately
for himself.

Kingdom spoke most plainly, and understanding
full well the power of hard, honest
truth, honestly and forcefully presented, he
frankly owned that John Jerome had been
forced into hiding by the danger in which he
was placed, owing to the charge that was made
against him. They both would be compelled to
leave their home and lose it and all the work
they had done in their clearing if the Delawares
could not be made to see that this accusation of
witchcraft was unjust and false, he said. He
reminded Captain Pipe and the others how, in
good faith, he and John had bought their land;
how they had refrained from going to the west
of the river on the portage path because those
lines marked the boundary of the lands the
Indians had never surrendered to the white
people as a whole. He appealed to the sense
of justice which every Indian had, to the end
that they might see how unfair it was to take
the testimony of any one person as conclusive
evidence of guilt.

Neither did Ree spare the Seneca. He
warmly called attention to the character of
Lone-Elk and denounced the fellow as an outcast,
a fugitive from the villages and the haunts
of his own people; scored him as one whose history
made him an unfit witness for the Delawares
to believe, and especially so since the
accusation he made was directed against one
whose friendship for all the Delawares, Big
Buffalo included, had been proved time and
again.

Much more did Ree say, and he was satisfied
as he finished that, whatever the outcome might
be, he had done his best. He had suggested
many causes for Big Buffalo’s sudden death,
any one of which he declared was more
reasonable than this idea of witchcraft. He had asked
that the opportunity be given him to examine
the body of the dead warrior to see if he could
not then tell precisely what had produced death.
He would not say, he stated, that he could positively
do this, but it would be no more than fair
to let him try.

In accordance with the Indian custom, when
matters of such grave concern were the subject
of a council, Kingdom withdrew after he had
presented his contention to await a decision
when the Delawares had discussed the matter
among themselves.

What went on in the Council House while he
walked about outside Kingdom did not know.
He easily imagined that Lone-Elk would ridicule
things that he had said and ask if he himself
had not been as good a Delaware since coming
among them as any warrior present.

Ree’s guess was not far wrong. Lone-Elk
did appeal to Captain Pipe and everyone
present in the strongest language at his command,
reiterating again and again that what his
eyes bad seen should stand for more than any
denial which the young Palefaces could make.
And he promised, too, that if the opportunity
were given him, he would find evidence convincing
to every Delaware that the Little Paleface
was a witch and that he and no other had
caused the death of the warrior whose arm
would be lifted in battle, whose voice would
sound upon the warpath never again.

For more than an hour the council remained
in session while Kingdom walked up and down
impatiently among the low huts. Most of the
Indians of both sexes were gathered in the
Council House and he was quite alone. A step
near by stirred him from his melancholy revery.
Glancing up, he found Fishing Bird beside him.
The look on the friendly fellow’s face was
enough to tell Ree that the council had decided
against him.

“Come,” the Indian said, telling with his
eyes that which he dared not speak, and Kingdom
followed him into the long, bark building
and once more stood before the council.

Very gravely Captain Pipe motioned to the
white boy to be seated, and himself rising,
spoke slowly and with much earnestness in
English, which language he now used quite
fluently.

At considerable length the Delaware chief reviewed
the whole case which had been presented
both by Ree and by Lone-Elk, the accuser. He
criticised the “Paleface brother” for having
failed to bring before the council the one who
had been accused. He praised Ree, however,
for the frank and open way in which he had
laid his arguments before the Indians and for
the friendliness he had shown the Delawares
at all times.

About the boundary between the white nation
and the Indian nations, Captain Pipe said it
was true that a treaty had been made several
years earlier by the white people and the Delaware,
Chippewa and Wyandot nations (at Fort
Industry, in 1785) in which it was agreed that
the Indians would give up all claim to the land
east of the Cuyahoga river, the portage path
and the Tuscarawas river, or main branch of
the Muskingum, as it was also called. He said
further that this same treaty was renewed at a
somewhat later time (at Fort Harmer, in 1789)
when the Delawares, Wyandots, Chippewas,
Sacs and Pottawatomies had made an agreement
with the Palefaces.

That the treaties were not kept, Captain Pipe
declared, was the fault of the white people because
they were always encroaching upon the
lands of the Indians and always seeking to
drive them farther and farther to the west. He
could not consider, he said, that the two young
white settlers had any rights in the Ohio country
except that which came to them by reason
of their having traded goods for the certain
small parcel of land they occupied. If they
wished to hunt or fish on any other land excepting
the few acres they owned, they did so only
because the Indians permitted it. Therefore if
any violation of Indian laws or customs was
committed, they must answer to the Indians for
the violation and not contend, as White Fox
had done, that a trial by the people of their own
color and laws was their right, because they did
not actually live on Indian soil.

The agreement the council had reached in regard
to the charge of witchcraft against him
who was called “Little Paleface,” Captain Pipe
at last concluded, was that Lone-Elk and others
should go forth to search for further evidence
against the white boy. Further, it was agreed
that the Delawares would grant the White
Fox—meaning Ree—permission to try to
show that Big Buffalo died from some cause
other than witchcraft if he would give himself
as a hostage for the delivery of Little Paleface
into the hands of Lone-Elk, in case it was
finally decided that witchcraft actually caused
the death of the warrior whose voice was now
silent.

The latter proposition came as a decided surprise
to Kingdom. He had been prepared to
hear the decision that Lone-Elk have the opportunity
to produce evidence. He remembered
vividly now the secret visit the Seneca had paid
the clearing the night before. But he dared not
speak of it. To do so would betray Fishing
Bird. And not knowing what Lone-Elk would
“find” in the way of “evidence,” Ree was
much at a loss to answer when Captain Pipe,
bidding him speak, sat down.

Like the ingenious Yankee boy that he was,
Ree did not reply at once to the hostage part
of the Delaware chief’s proposal. Concerning
the search for evidence, he could only say, he
stated, that full permission was given the Indians
to look in every nook and corner of the
cabin by the river and in the clearing and the
woods surrounding it, or wherever else they
chose. If they found anything which could be
taken to be evidence that John Jerome had
aught to do with the death of Big Buffalo, it
would be something which had been placed
among their property by others; it would be
“made to order” evidence, and therefore worth
nothing to any fair minded member of the Delaware
or any other nation.

Having spoken thus far, and thinking now of
the offer that he give himself as a hostage,
though he did not mention it, Ree asked of Captain
Pipe and all the Indians present whether
he was to consider them personally as friends
or foes. He wanted to know whether he himself
was to be free to come and go as in the past,
or whether it was their intention to dispossess
him of his land by practically driving him off
of it.

“If you do this,” said he, “in what way is it
better than the treatment the Indians themselves
complain of, that they are driven from
their forests?”

The thought thus presented interested Captain
Pipe a great deal and for a second or two
he did not answer.

“The council is over. The Paleface brother
knows its decision. It is not the custom to talk
when the time for talking is past,” he said at
last.

“Yes, but am I to be molested? Am I to lie
down at night knowing that to me, personally,
at least, the Delawares are friends, or am I to
watch lest as enemies they come to kill me?”
Ree demanded.

“The Paleface brother gives himself not as
a hostage. He has rejected the offer made
him,” Captain Pipe answered.

“I want only time to think about that,” said
Ree. “I will answer later.”

The council was over but the Indians all remained
silent, listening attentively to everything
which was said. Inquiringly now they
looked to their chief to know the white boy’s
fate. Most of them felt friendly toward him.
But at the same time all, or nearly all, were
growing daily more hostile to the whites in general.

“The White Fox may go. He is free and no
Indian will disturb him; but he must come no
more to the village of the Delawares if he comes
not as a hostage. He must remain near his
own lodge and if he goes from his own land he
must go not far. He must carry no tales of
what the Indians are doing to the forts or to
the houses of the Paleface people. On the land
that the Delawares sold to him the Paleface
brother shall be as safe as the eagle in its nest
upon the mountain tops.”

“No other place, though,” Lone-Elk grunted
savagely and only half audibly.

Whether Captain Pipe heard him Ree did not
know, for as the latter had ceased speaking he
had dismissed the council with a wave of his
hand, and now all the Indians were moving
toward the open air, some quiet and thoughtful,
some talking, some pushing and hurrying, some
inclined to linger.

Gentle Maiden was among the latter. She
passed very near Ree as she moved slowly out
and, unobserved by any save himself, gave the
lad a glance which was most friendly, the only
really friendly look he had received except from
Fishing Bird.

With an effort Kingdom suppressed a tear
of bitterness and disappointment which, somehow,
the friendly look from the Indian girl had
brought to his eyes. He waited only until he
could reach Captain Pipe and shake his hand
to show the appreciation and respect which he
felt were really due the chief, sadly misled by
Lone-Elk though the proud Delaware was. Ree
could not but notice Hopocon performed the
friendly ceremony of shaking hands with far
less of cordial warmth than usual.

“So much,” he thought, “for the fact that
Captain Pipe needs lead and that the Seneca
knows where lead is.”

But he said good-bye to those who were near,
untied Phoebe and rode slowly away. The day
was very near its close.

CHAPTER X—“MORE BULLETS, MORE LEAD.”
====================================

Ree did not doubt that Lone-Elk, expecting
that he and John would meet to talk over the
events of the day and the outcome of the
“talk,” would either spy upon him as he made
his way home, or keep watch of the clearing
during the night.

The lad easily saw in the Seneca the influence
which set Captain Pipe and many of the
other Delawares against him and against John.
He concluded, too, that so far as Lone-Elk was
concerned, the accusation of witchcraft was but
a means to an end.

He was certain that the Seneca had some evil
purpose in view in causing the Delawares to
believe the absurd things he told them. Or was
it only to shield himself from suspicion in connection
with Big Buffalo’s death that he had
invented the witchcraft story? Was the Seneca,
then, really the murderer of the Delaware
warrior? If he were not, he must have some reason
for turning the people of Captain Pipe’s village
against their white neighbors other than merely
to avert suspicion from himself.

Often the worn and anxious boy recalled the
warning Captain Pipe had given him to carry
to the settlements no news of what the Indians
were doing. Could it be that some attack upon
Gen. Wayne’s men was being planned and the
Delawares, inspired by Lone-Elk, were afraid
the white boys would hear of it and give the
alarm? Or did Lone-Elk merely fear the Paleface
pioneers would discover the secret lead
mine which gave him his hold upon Captain
Pipe? Maybe that keen old redskin himself
feared the same thing and dreaded lest the
white soldiers should invade the country to win
possession of so rich a prize.

Ree wondered if he was right in any of these
surmises, then it would seem that the wish of
the Indians was to cause him and John to forsake
their cabin and their clearing and be gone
to return no more. On the other hand, after
the warning he had received, it would be positively
unsafe for him to travel far in the direction
of Fort Pitt or the settlements, lest the
redskins suspect him of going to betray some
secret, and so make an end of him. What then
could he do?

So, completely tired out after the past two
anxious days and nights, Kingdom floundered
more and more hopelessly in a sea of “ifs” and
“but thens,” and confused question marks, as
he tried in vain to arrive at what would seem to
him a correct summing up of the situation.

“It’s just no use thinking any more about it,”
he declared to himself when half way home.
But he added, “Not now, at least,” as a second
thought, for he well knew in what direction his
mind would turn when he had rested and could
reflect with more composure.

A half mile from the Delaware town Ree had
let Phoebe gallop wherever the trail was open
enough to make such speed possible, and he
had a grim satisfaction in the belief that Lone-Elk
was following him.

The Seneca was equal to such a task. Nothing
tired him; no hardships or labor were tod
great for him to undertake when he had a point
to gain. Kingdom knew this well. He saw in
the hateful fellow a spirit which nothing could
turn aside and a strength and cunning far
superior to the same qualities in other Indians,
though all were gifted in this way.

“I only hope he is following. If I could be
sure of it and make him run his legs half off
to keep up, only to disappoint him in the end,
I’d gallop you every step, Phoebe, every last
step,” Ree told the sagacious mare, who was
picking her steps with the utmost nicety.

And the fact was that the tenacious Seneca,
thinking that Kingdom would surely go at once
to his companion, was following the horse and
rider at no great distance behind. He was
afraid to go forward to the clearing, and spy
upon the cabin from the edge of the woods lest
Ree meet John at some appointed place along
the trail. He thought with savage pleasure of
the satisfaction he would have in dragging the
Little Paleface before the assembled Delawares.
With a sort of fierce happiness he
anticipated the pride and joy he would have in
hanging the white boy’s scalp above the door
of his lodge where all might see.

Forced as he was to run at a good, round
speed in order to keep the sound of the horse’s
hoofs within hearing, and being tired and in no
pleasant frame of mind to begin with, Lone-Elk
became furious as mile after mile he followed
on and all to no purpose. His very scowl was
frightful. Again and again was he tempted
to overtake the young white man and vent his
hatred in one safe, sure shot from behind.

Had the Seneca attempted to put this thought
into execution, however, he would certainly
have regretted it. Unknown to him, Fishing
Bird was also on the trail. Keenly as Lone-Elk
followed the horse and rider, he in turn was
spied upon by the Delaware who, for a favor
done him long ago, was willing to risk his life
for his Paleface friend.

As Kingdom reached the clearing and
mounted the hill to the log house, Lone-Elk
changed his course and traversed the edge of
the woods to a point from which he could command
a view of the cabin and the whole open
space about it. Fishing Bird changed his
course also. From behind a clump of hazel
bushes he kept his eyes on the Seneca unceasingly.

Long after the firelight shone brightly from
the door of the white boys’ home, Lone-Elk,
silent as the very tree trunk which screened him,
watched and waited. Scarcely could Fishing
Bird see him, yet with equal patience, he also
remained at his post.

Little guessing how closely his every movement
was scrutinized by eyes in which there was
not one gleam of kindness or of justice, Kingdom
went about his evening work in the barn
and house and prepared his lonely supper. One
consoling thought, and only one, came to him.
It was that he could consider himself safe for
the present. He would have time to meet John
when he returned, and then if they agreed that
their only safety lay in deserting the cabin,—the
cabin and all they had accomplished in the
clearing,—they would do so. With a few
hours’ start they could, with their horses, leave
any pursuing Indians well behind.

Still, Ree assured himself more than once
flight would be the last thing he would recommend
or think of. He declared it might be that
Lone-Elk was more than a match for him, but
the Seneca would have to prove it, and meanwhile
the game he had commenced was one at
which two could play.

Much thinking of all that had occurred and
trying in vain to reason out the inward meaning
of it all drove Kingdom to his bunk, completely
worn out. With a determination, whose
strength was one of his characteristics, he succeeded
in putting his difficulties from him for
the time, and soon soundly slept.

When the moon had risen, when the firelight
in the cabin no longer brightly burned, when all
the clearing was hushed and silent, Lone-Elk
gave utterance to a contemptuous, disgusted
“Ugh!”

Fishing Bird, alert and faithful every moment,
heard the sound and noted with exquisite
satisfaction the disappointment and chagrin the
Seneca’s tone expressed. As Lone-Elk turned
and moved stealthily, as his habit was, deeper
into the woods, and in the direction of the Delaware
town, he followed. Elation over the toppling
of Lone-Elk’s hopes after all the toil and
trouble with which he had followed the Paleface
youth filled his heart. Dejected and sour
must the Seneca go back to the village again.
The thought that he, also, must make the weary
journey and that he, also, had had but his labor
for his pains, did not come to him. His conscience
commended him for what he had done
and the hardship of it all was only play.

It happened, however, that the generous Fishing
Bird arrived at his conclusions quite too
hastily. Satisfied that Lone-Elk was returning
to the village, he gave little further heed to the
Seneca’s movements. Having allowed the
latter a long start, he was content to go on slowly,
taking pains only that he should not come upon
the other unawares, or be likewise surprised
himself.

When the morning broke on the village of
the Delawares the Seneca was not there. Fishing
Bird was the first to observe his absence.
He had been away from the time the council
closed the day before, some of the young braves
said. They feared Lone-Elk, but they also
admired him for his strength and his knowledge,
and being much given to watching all his
movements, they had noticed his absence from
the first.

Alarmed and much provoked with himself,
the Indian friend of the two young white men
spent an anxious day. He feared at any moment
to see the Seneca come striding proudly
among the lodges, as his custom was, dangling
the scalp of Little Paleface in such a way
that none would fail to see it. Again and again
he was tempted to visit the cabin of the boys,
but dreaded to do so lest his presence there be
discovered and result in so much of suspicion
being aroused that his usefulness in the lads’
interests would be ended.

All day Fishing Bird moved idly about or sat
silently in his lodge, showing neither by word
or look or action the anxiety he felt, though it
increased more and more as the afternoon
waned and Lone-Elk continued absent. But at
last his long watch ended. Just at sunset the
Seneca came wearily into the village. At his
belt hung two pouches, both of which seemed
heavy. One of them he gave to a group of
squaws who were tending the boiling of a great
pot of beans. It contained salt. The other he
carried to Captain Pipe and without a word
emptied its contents upon a bearskin at the
chief’s feet.

“More bullets!”

“More bullets, more lead, Chief Hopocon,”
the Seneca answered, using the Delaware’s
Indian name, “more lead for the brave warriors
of the Delawares.”

CHAPTER XI—THE HIDDEN TOMAHAWK
==============================

A most uncomfortable feeling of horror and
astonishment held John Jerome speechless
and motionless as he looked on the appalling
scene which his moving of the brush heap had
revealed. For the time all his senses seemed to
desert him and, acting on an impulse of utter
dismay, he hastily drew the bulk of the brush
pile over the bodies again and hurried away.

As if he would find a refuge there, John hastened
to the rude shelter where he had spent the
night and where a few coals, still bright and
warm, seemed to radiate a protecting air about
the lonely spot.

All thoughts and actions are influenced more
or less by one’s surroundings, and being in the
presence of that which suggested comfort and
tranquillity, the startled boy was able presently
to regain his composure somewhat. But if ever
John desired the company of Ree Kingdom,
and felt the need of his aid and counsel, he did
now.

If only his own inclinations were to have been
consulted, Jerome would have set out for home
at as lively a pace as possible. Only the thought
of the questions Ree would ask, and which he
would be unable to answer, stood in his way.
He could easily assure himself that, so far as
his own curiosity was concerned, he had no wish
to look again upon the awful objects the brush
covered. Yet it would not do to go back to
Kingdom with practically no definite information.

Mustering all the resolution he could, therefore,
John returned to the dreadful spot, walking
with great caution and with many anxious
glances in all directions. He knew that the two
bodies must have been placed where he had
found them at least two or three days earlier,
yet he was haunted by the feeling that the murderers
were hiding close by. He rather
expected, indeed, that the next moment they would
jump out and seize him.

In this state of mind it required all the courage
he could command to take hold of the lower
portions of the matted mass of brush and drag
the whole heap to one side; but he did it, and
quickly then, lest his nerve fail him before the
task was done, he examined both the corpses.

One was that of a man of about thirty years,
dressed in homespun clothes and having in general
appearance the unmistakable marks of the
frontier about him. The hair was red and the
face and hands showed many freckles despite
the discoloration which had taken place.

The other body had been in life a robust giant
of a fellow, perhaps twenty-two years old, with
long, thick black hair, and a short, stubby
growth of beard upon his face. The finer texture
of the clothing and the style of the garments
denoted a man from the east, one who
was not ordinarily a hunter or a woodsman.

Both men had been shot—one from the side,
for the bullet had entered his temple; the other
undoubtedly from behind. The wound was
hardly noticeable but the bullet had seemingly
shattered the spinal column.

No valuables, no papers, no arms, absolutely
nothing was there, so far as John could find, on
or near either of the bodies which would furnish
any clew to their identity. Powder horns,
knives and all things of the kind usually carried
by men in the woods had been taken away. The
further fact that the dead had been scalped, as
well as robbed, convinced John that Indians had
done the deed. He did not linger long, however,
to speculate upon the question. Placing the
covering of brush over the bodies again, he
literally fled from the spot, nor did he slacken
his speed to a rapid walk until he had left the
cause of his alarm a full mile behind.

Unnerved and depressed as he was, John
entirely forgot the danger which confronted him
in his accustomed haunts, and constantly
thought of but one thing, which was that he
must see Kingdom and tell him of the terrible
discovery without a moment’s delay.

“I’ll keep going all night; no rest for me
now,” he told himself, and yet what he meant
to do or what he supposed Ree would be able to
do concerning the matter uppermost in his
mind, he would not have been able to say.

Night came on. Poor Jerome had eaten nothing
since morning and his fatigue was great.
His mind was calmer now, and he felt the uselessness
of going on without rest or food.
Beside a great log where the wind had drifted
the freshly fallen leaves he sat down, therefore,
and ate the little meat he had remaining. It
was rather comfortable here, he thought—almost
any resting place would seem so after
such a day as he had had—and he wrapped his
blanket about him and lay down. The next day
he would be back to the rocky ledges and the
friendly hollow poplar again. By Monday
morning, if not before, he would see Kingdom,
that is, if nothing had befallen him. After what
he had seen at the “lick” he would not be surprised
to hear of more dreadful things.

How greatly both he and Ree had trusted the
Indians, he reflected. Now if he could but find
Kingdom safe and sound, and they both could
get away to Fort Pitt or any place of safety, he
would ask nothing more. But no, on second
thought, he would ask yet one thing. It would
be the privilege of joining Gen. Wayne’s army
and taking up arms against the savages in any
campaign the white military would conduct.

And so thinking, John Jerome fell asleep.

.. vspace:: 2

It was a crisp, bright, fall night. Return
Kingdom had eaten his supper quite dejectedly
after spending the whole day watching for the
coming of Lone-Elk or others of the Indians,
while making scarcely more than a pretense of
being busy husking corn. He was glad that
John would soon return. While he had no
thought of deserting the cabin and the clearing,
he would feel much more comfortable to have
Jerome somewhere near. True, he could see
but little of him until Lone-Elk’s accusation was
effectually disposed of, but there would at least
be some one with whom he could discuss the
situation, some one sharing with him the news
of each day’s developments and the plans for
future action.

In a brown study Ree sat before the fireplace.
Then an Indian yell, fierce and loud—a yell
which was more of a war-whoop than he was
glad to hear—brought him quickly to his feet.
Seizing his rifle, he opened a loophole in the wall
in a corner where the light was dim, and looked
out. A party of savages was approaching. The
Indians moved in single file, making no effort to
conceal their numbers, and seeming to be bent
on no particular mischief.

Reassured by his observations, Kingdom
opened the door while the redskins were yet but
half way up the hill and, putting on an appearance
of unconcern, called out to know who was
disturbing the night with such a racket.

“The Delawares have come to demand the
Little Paleface,” the voice of Lone-Elk rose in
response.

“You mean the Seneca has come,” Kingdom
boldly answered. “It is he who demands that
one who was never anything but the friend of
the Delawares shall be punished for a crime that
is not his.”

By this time the Indians were close about the
cabin door.

“Come in, friends,” Kingdom continued, his
voice taking on a more cordial tone. “I suppose
you have come to look for Little Paleface,
but he is not here nor has he been for many
days.”

“Witches come or witches go. Like the wind
they are here but they are gone. Let the Delawares
see.”

These words from Lone-Elk set all the party
to looking about in careful search. No crevice
was too small to escape their investigations.
They seemed to think the so-called witch might
hide himself in a space not large enough to admit
a hand, and peered into every chink and
corner.

It developed later that the savages were looking
more for evidence of witchcraft than for the
alleged witch himself. Still nothing was discovered.

“Brothers, hearken to Lone-Elk,” the Seneca
cried presently. “We remember the great crow
which sat so long upon the gathered corn.
Look, then, where the corn was. Witches take
strange forms but they leave marks behind, if
the Delawares can find them.”

In a body the reckless party of braves the
Seneca had brought rushed toward the cornfield.
Only one loitered in the rear and he was
Fishing Bird.

Lone-Elk was in advance. Even while he
spoke, he was leading the way, and as if he had
marked the spot well, he went directly to the
shock of corn on which the vagrant crow was
perched the day the Indians watched in vain for
John Jerome while he slyly peeked out at them
from the cabin loft.

“Tear down the corn! See what can be
found!” the Seneca cried, and with a violent
jerk laid the shock of fodder over upon the
ground.

“Ugh!”

The savage who spoke was an evil-looking
fellow and one of Lone-Elk’s warmest followers.
Even as his exclamations were made, he
seized a heavy stone tomahawk, which lay on
the ground where the shock of corn had been,
and held it up for all to behold.

Lone-Elk shrugged his shoulders significantly
and called all the Indians together. Here, he
declared, was the identical hatchet which had
slain Big Buffalo. And see the dark stains
upon it! Even in the moonlight did they show
red with the blood of the dead warrior.

With talk of this kind the anger of the Delawares
was inflamed. Most of them now believed
implicitly the charges of witchcraft Lone-Elk
had made, and a few words from him would be
sufficient to cause an immediate attack to be
made upon Ree and the cabin.

Kingdom saw his danger. He knew as well
as if he had seen the thing done that Lone-Elk
had concealed the tomahawk beneath the shock
of corn, but what could he do or say? If only
Fishing Bird would tell what he had seen after
following the Seneca to the white boys’ clearing,
it might be enough to turn the sentiment
of the Indians another way. They would see
that they were being trifled with and their
ignorance played upon by one who was not
trusted even by his own tribe. The whole
trouble might be settled at once.

But Fishing Bird did not speak and Kingdom
would not betray the friendly fellow’s confidence,
though his very life depended upon it.
Still he made light of the discovery of the tomahawk
and told Lone-Elk to his face that he
knew perfectly well who hid the hatchet in the
corn.

So bold was Ree, indeed, in making this and
other accusations against the Seneca that the
latter would have made an end of the young
white man then and there but for his fear of
Captain Pipe. As it was, he satisfied himself
with inflaming the Delawares against Ree, as
well as against the “Paleface witch,” and undoubtedly
hoped in secret that some of the more
reckless ones would set fire to the cabin, or even
kill its owner. So long as he could tell their
chief that the Delawares themselves, not he,
had committed the outrage and violated the
promise made the young Paleface, he could
wish nothing better.

Kingdom owed it to Fishing Bird and two or
three others, but to Fishing Bird most of all,
that the exciting talk of the Seneca resulted in
no immediate harm to him. The counsel of
these Indians was not of the loud and angry
manner of Lone-Elk’s bitter speeches, but to
the contrary, quiet and persuasive.

“The Delawares will bide their time. They
will do nothing rash because Lone-Elk seeks
with talk to drive them to madness. Can it be
the Seneca has some reason that we know not
of for desiring the trouble he seeks to cause?”

With many quiet remarks of this character,
spoken in the Indian tongue, Fishing Bird
moved among the excited braves and warriors,
and more than one, chancing to hear his low
spoken words, stopped in the midst of his
shouting and threatening demonstrations to consider
if what Fishing Bird said was not pretty wholesome
counsel after all.

Through all the uproar and while the savages
ran here and there, shrieking and excited, upsetting
the shocks of corn and doing much other
annoying damage, bent on finding more hidden
tomahawks or other evidence of witchcraft,
Kingdom stood in the cabin doorway. He could
close and bar the door in a second if it should
be necessary to do so, he knew; but until that
time came he meant to give none of the Delawares,
much less Lone-Elk, any cause for believing
that he was in any manner frightened
or at all seriously disturbed.

When it became apparent that nothing more
was to be discovered, the few Indians who had
not already taken heed of the words of Fishing
Bird quieted down and seeing that they would
commit no greater or further violence, the
Seneca summoned all to gather round him.
Close to the cabin he led the band, and not
knowing what the treacherous rascal might have
in mind, Kingdom gripped his rifle closer and
even slung it up to a position over his arm in
which he could make quick use of the weapon.

“The White Fox was to give himself as a
hostage for the delivery of the Paleface witch to
the Delawares,” Lone-Elk cried to the Indians
who gathered round him. “If the one that is
called Little Paleface is not a witch and did not
kill Big Buffalo with his witch’s hatchet, let
the White Fox say where the Little Paleface is,
and come now as a hostage to the great chief,
Hopocon, till the murderer of Big Buffalo is
found.”

“Even as the Great Spirit knows that Little
Paleface did not kill Big Buffalo, so does Lone-Elk
know it. He knows it as well as he knows
how came that hatchet hidden in the corn,”
Kingdom answered loudly, and with a tone of
solemn certainty that could not escape the Indians’
notice. “And I, whom the Delawares
call White Fox; I, who have been their friend
and enjoyed their friendship in return until
Lone-Elk came among you, now call upon all
who are here, and all the people of Captain
Pipe’s town, to witness this statement—that if
harm comes to Little Paleface or to me, every
Delaware will regret it;-that the Great Spirit
hears me when I say that in the end we all shall
know by whose hand Big Buffalo was killed,
and we shall see that it was not by witchcraft
that he died.”

“Much talk! A young buck’s much big talk!”
grunted Lone-Elk contemptuously in English;
but that Kingdom’s solemn words and manner
had much impressed a majority of the Indians
the young pioneer himself well knew, and the
Seneca must have seen it also. At any rate he
started off toward the Delaware town, swinging
the blood-stained tomahawk over his
shoulder as he went. One by one the others
followed.

CHAPTER XII—KINGDOM ALSO MAKES A DISCOVERY
==========================================

Return Kingdom firmly believed that sooner
or later the true cause and manner of Big Buffalo’s
death must become known. It must be
so, he argued within himself. There had been
times in history when the innocent had suffered
for the guilty, but the saying, “murder will
out,” had been proved a true one always. Ree
pinned his faith to it now. He did not so much
as question how the truth would become known.
In unseeing confidence he was willing to risk
anything on his firm conviction that right must
win and would win in the end, however slight
the chance might seem.

And it is not too much to say, just here, that
in after time it came to pass that all that Kingdom
believed would happen, did happen; still,
could he have looked forward to, and have seen
the end, as he stood lonesome and nervous in
the cabin door when the last of the Indians,—even
Fishing Bird,—had departed, there would
have been no more astonished young man in
America that night.

Hopeful that Fishing Bird would come back
for a talk with him when the Indians had passed
into the woods and he could drop behind without
his absence being noticed, Kingdom left the
door ajar and sat for a long time before the
smoldering embers of his fire. It was Saturday
night, he reflected. There would be no work
tomorrow, no hunting, no trapping. He would
set off on foot, as if going for a stroll in the
woods, and by traveling two sides of a triangle
come at last to the old hollow whitewood and
there wait for the coming of John. If the latter
had made particularly good progress and
had not loitered about the “big lick” too long,
he should be arriving by early afternoon. Perhaps
he had returned even now.

“And I’ll wager a pair of boots that he’ll be
hungry enough, too!” Kingdom said to himself
as he concluded his reflections; and being
reminded by this that he was hungry, he ate some
cold roasted venison, then looked out of the door
once more for Fishing Bird, before creeping
into bed.

Believing now that he had not been watched
or followed after leaving the Indian town on
the day of the council, Return concluded that
Lone-Elk was too busy with his own affairs to
spend a great deal of time spying about the
clearing. Yet when he started from the cabin
the following morning he traveled in a direction
at right angles with that in which he wished
to go, and moved very cautiously. He did not
doubt that the Indians were searching for John
Jerome, but concerning his own movements he
reasoned that he would not be suspected of intending
to go far, since he went on foot. And
at the worst, if he found himself followed, he
could gradually make his way home, leaving the
spies no wiser than before.

For a considerable distance Kingdom walked
along the old trail to the east as if he were but
strolling through the woods. The day was
bright and sunny and except for the raw north
wind would have been of an ideal Indian summer
type. Overhead great flocks of crows were
cawing lustily. Eddies of the breeze whirled
leaves here and there, and all in all there were
many sounds abroad to drown the noise of footfalls
on the soft mold and the leafy carpet of
the forest.

For two miles or more Kingdom followed the
irregular course of the eastward trail. Now he
would turn abruptly to the north, he thought,
and soon be safe from discovery in the unmarked
depths of the woods. He paused and
listened for a moment before leaving the path.

Hark! The sound of footfalls soft as a cat’s,
but coming steadily nearer, reached the boy’s
ears. He was followed.

Quick as the thought which flashed across his
brain, and without noise, Kingdom stepped
from the beaten trail and crouched behind a little
knoll thickly overgrown with low bushes.
Now if his pursuer, whoever he might be, would
but pass on, he could effectually throw him off
the scent before the latter discovered that his
game had left the traveled path and so eluded
him.

The breathless interest with which Ree
listened to the approach of the stealthy footfalls
can more easily be imagined than described.
He had little doubt that it was Lone-Elk
who was, dogging his movements. But soon
he would know for certain. Whoever it was he
would pass within a yard of the knoll and the
brush which screened him. Would he go on by,
and how far would he be likely to go before discovering
that he had missed the course?

The pursuer came quickly forward. His body
was bent in an eager attitude of listening and
careful watchfulness, as if he would look far
ahead despite the brush and trees and the low
boughs which shut out his view. A hound, following
a scent so faint that he might at any
moment lose it, could not have been more intent
or more keenly in earnest.

Listening and watching with bated breath,
Kingdom saw the fellow approach and steal
quickly on. It was Lone-Elk.

Hardly had the Seneca passed the spot of
Kingdom’s concealment, however, than he
stopped, and stooping down, placed his ear to
the ground. He seemed perplexed and uncertain.
For several seconds he intently listened.
But at last, still doubtful apparently, but anxious
lest he was allowing himself to fall too far
behind, he continued on, rather faster than before.

In spite of the danger of his position, Kingdom
could scarcely suppress an audible chuckle
as he saw Lone-Elk outwitted; but he realized
that he “laughs best who laughs last,” and
without losing an instant in self-congratulation
he rose and stepped into the path again. The
Seneca had passed out of sight. “And so goodbye
to you for this time,” the boy thought, as
he listened carefully and heard nothing, then
exerting himself to the utmost to move quietly,
he sped back along the path in the direction
from which he had come.

For a quarter of a mile Ree continued his
flight, then with a sudden broad leap left the
path and traveled more moderately toward the
north and west. At every step through the unbroken
woods he sought to avoid leaving any
trail which could be followed. Too cautious and
too wise to risk going straight forward to the
hollow poplar, although he had every reason to
believe he had completely eluded the Seneca,
Kingdom loitered here and there and traveled
quite a zig-zag course.

By degrees, however, he came to the vicinity
he sought and, to assure himself that he was
not now watched, he sat down on a big boulder
to rest and listen. As he waited he felt that
somehow his sense of satisfaction in having
given Lone-Elk the slip was disappearing. Why
was it? Had he “counted his chickens before
they were hatched,” after all? The feeling
grew on him that he was not alone, that somewhere
near there were eyes which were on him
constantly.

It is a dreadful sensation to feel that you are
spied upon. Even to imagine that some one is
secretly watching every breath you take, gazing
intently, as if to read your very thoughts, is
painful. To Kingdom, with the conviction
growing in his mind that Lone-Elk had picked
up his trail and had at no time been far behind
him, the feeling was almost enough to unnerve
him.

There was one way to determine whether this
new trouble was real or imaginary, Kingdom
told himself, and soon made use of it. Rising
quickly, he started off at a brisk pace, looking
neither to right nor left. Then, setting himself
to catch the slightest sound, he suddenly
stopped. A thrill ran through him. The noise
he heard was unmistakable. There was a distinct
rustling among the leaves. It stopped an
instant after he did.

Ree well knew the wonderful power many of
the Indians had for following others in the
woods, especially along unbeaten trails, without
revealing themselves. He knew, too, that Lone-Elk
of all others was most certain to be adept
in such practices. To go on to the meeting
place agreed upon with John would be, therefore,
the height of foolishness.

Twice again Ree stopped to harken for his
pursuer’s footsteps. Once he was certain be
heard them. The other time he was sure he
heard nothing; but when he walked back along
his own trail a little way, he was conscious of
a shadow having moved among the trees in the
distance, though he saw nothing more tangible.

Ree’s first impulse was to go in pursuit of
the Seneca; for he did not question the identity
of the spy, but thinking better of it, he resolved
slowly to change his course so as to go at no
time near the old poplar. He would reach the
river after a time and, following its banks,
eventually return to the cabin. A grievous disappointment
it was to give up the meeting with
John, but there was no help for it if that young
gentleman’s scalp was to be kept in safety
where nature placed it.

Constant as his own shadow always, Kingdom
felt the Seneca’s presence steadily near
him. He did not need to look around. He did
not need to pause or listen. In his heart he
knew the redskin was close by, as well as if
they were walking side by side. He was getting
into the rough and broken country now,
just back from the river valley. Soon he would
alter his course again to head more directly
toward home.

Thus was Ree thinking when in a little gully,
nearly bidden by high, precipitous banks, he
suddenly beheld the ashes of a campfire and,
spread upon a few broad strips of bark, something
white and glistening. It couldn’t be snow.
There had been none. It was salt spread out
to dry.

Like a flash the thought came to Ree and with
it the certain conviction that John Jerome was
just out of sight in the sheltered place below,
or gone, perhaps, to keep the appointment at the
old poplar.

Instantly Kingdom changed his course. His
whole effort now was to keep the Seneca from
seeing what he had seen. He dared not run,
lest he create suspicion in Lone-Elk’s mind;
but he quickened his pace and held to a direction
which he hoped would result in the Indian,
intent only on watching him, cutting off the
sharp corner he had turned and so not approaching
as near to the edge of the bluff as he
had done.

In his thoughts Ree scolded John Jerome
sharply. What did the boy mean, anyway, by
so exposing himself? What was the drying of
a little salt from the “big lick” as compared
to his own safety? And at a time when his very
life was at stake!

At last the river was reached. Lone-Elk was
still coming on behind. There could be no doubt
of it. Repeatedly Kingdom had heard the
gravel under his feet as the Seneca clambered
down the steep banks after him.

What a change his chance discovery of John’s
camp had caused, Ree thought. A little while
ago he was distressed because the Indian was
always coming after him. Now he would be
worried, indeed, should he find that the fellow
had discontinued the pursuit. If the Seneca
should give up the chase now it could mean but
one thing—that he, too, had seen the camping
place and was going there in search of more
immediate results than his present labor promised.

A variety of tactics did Ree adopt to keep the
pursuing Indian interested in watching him.
Often did he pause and pretend to look all about
with the greatest caution, and to listen closely,
as if he had come at last to the very place which
he had set out to reach. Again, he would suddenly
hurry forward among the trees, or dart
in here or there amidst the bushes, as though
trying to escape the observation of anyone who
might be near.

Up to the cabin was the game played. Only
when the clearing, was reached did it end.
Tired, alarmed, and more or less out of spirits,
as he reckoned the extent of time wasted—a
large part of the day—Kingdom sat down on a
shock of corn which the Delawares had upset
the night before. As he did so, he caught sight
of the Indian for the first time since morning.
The Seneca was moving silently from tree to
tree, but apparently watching all that the white
boy did.

Moved by the grim humor of the long, unavailing
chase he had led the redskin, Kingdom
called out to the fellow:

“Hi, there, Lone-Elk, haven’t you had enough
of that sort of thing for one day?”

In an instant the savage stepped into the
clearing.

“Paleface is a fool,” he spoke in English,
and raised his rifle menacingly.

“Put up that gun, Lone-Elk, and come sit
down here! Come, sit down, and let’s talk matters
over just by ourselves,” Kingdom returned
in a friendly tone. The ugly manner of the
Indian really alarmed him, but he took this way
of concealing the fact; and, moreover, if the
Seneca could be persuaded to discuss their differences
just between themselves, much might
be accomplished.

With a contemptuous “Ugh!” Lone-Elk
threw his rifle over his arm again. But instead
of accepting Kingdom’s invitation, he turned
into the woods and was soon gone from sight.

Still Kingdom remained sitting on the bundle
of fodder. He was thinking of John Jerome
and the camp in the gully near the river. The
more he reflected, the more inclined he was to
believe that it was not John’s camp that he had
discovered. How could John have brought salt
from the “lick?” He had not had time enough
to make any. That he had obtained it of some
one whom he found there was possible, but
hardly likely. But, on the other hand, if the
camp was not John Jerome’s, whose in the
world was it? Who was spreading salt to dry
in the depths of the Ohio wilderness?

CHAPTER XIII—THE SENECA OUTWITTED
=================================

So long as he believed Lone-Elk to be near
the clearing, Ree was little better than a prisoner,
so far as going to find John Jerome was
concerned; and as he realized that the Seneca
might prolong his stay indefinitely, he turned
his thoughts to some plan by which he might
be rid of the fellow. He had no intention of
letting Lone-Elk suspect what was in his mind,
however. On the contrary, he would endure
a great deal rather than give the Indian the
satisfaction of knowing how greatly he desired
to be alone.

Sauntering leisurely to the cabin, Kingdom
sat in the doorway to eat and drink, for he
was still warm with the vigorous exercise of the
forenoon. Then he fed the horses and for a
time busied himself about the stable. Constantly
was he alert to discover whether
Lone-Elk was still in the vicinity, and as he watched
through a crack from inside the barn, he several
times saw the Indian. The unyielding savage
was moving uneasily from point to point, but
his eyes were turned always in the direction
of the cabin, and his manner seemed to express
a determination to look nowhere else for a long
time to come.

Surely it was enough to bring despair to anyone,
Kingdom told himself. Then the thought
came to him that maybe Lone-Elk was despairing
quite as much as he. He recalled a rule
that good old Captain Bowen had once laid
down for him when he and John were planning
their first trip west—“Don’t give up. When
you are just about done for and you think you
can’t hold out a second longer, just keep your
hold the stronger; for you can depend on it that
the other fellow is more or less winded if you
are, and you don’t know but he is more.”

Gaining encouragement in such reflections,
Kingdom set his teeth and a smile which was
not pleasant to see came to his lips. Very
quietly and naturally, however, he carried a
bucket of fresh water up from the river and
went into the cabin and sat down. If he could
do nothing else, he would slip through the barn
and get into the woods in the darkness. He
could lie by in some secluded place until morning
and for Lone-Elk to find him, after he had
obtained such a start, would be more than even
that determined redskin was likely to undertake.

The shadows lengthened. With the thought
of slipping away in the darkness in mind, Kingdom
let the fire die down and from loopholes
constantly watched the clearing to make certain
the Seneca did not approach the buildings and
so be able to prevent his leaving.

Slowly the gathering darkness deepened. It
closed around the little log house and stump-dotted
open space in the forest’s fastnesses. It
closed around Lone-Elk, the Seneca, unrelenting
and vigilant. But it closed around another,
too, who watched the cabin on the bluff with
patience and with perseverance quite equal to
the Indian’s.

.. vspace:: 2

When John Jerome awoke from the deep
sleep into which he fell beside the log that protected
him not only from the night wind but
from sight as well, if by any chance Indians or
others should be passing, he stirred uneasily
and at last sat up. A yelp and a sudden rustling
of the leaves accompanied his movement.
More startled than frightened, John leaped to
his feet. Two pairs of eyes shone yellowish-green
in the darkness, and a hungry growl came
from the same direction.

“Scatter, you varmints!” cried the boy, and
clubbing his gun, sprang toward the creatures.

The wolves retreated, but only a few steps.
Again John leaped toward them and this time
also sent a heavy, half-rotten limb from the old
log flying after them. Made bold by hunger,
however, the brutes only growled the more
fiercely.

“Looks as if I’d have to give one of you a
little lead,” the boy remarked, and calmly sat
down on the fallen tree trunk. Still he hesitated
to shoot, disliking both to waste the
powder and to attract attention toward himself.
He was still rather nervous from the shock received
at the “lick.”

“Almost daylight, anyhow,” John reflected.
“I’ll get an early start.” He sat quiet, therefore,
calmly eyeing the shining balls which
gleamed at him until the first peep of light.
Even then the wolves lingered near; but, paying
little further attention to them, the lad set
off at a rapid pace, once more on the homeward
way and thankful for it.

Before the morning was far advanced Jerome
found himself among familiar scenes. With
boyish pleasure he greeted each fresh object
that he recognized. A gnarled old oak, whose
oddly twisted branches he had noticed more
than once, seemed like an old friend. A tall
stub of an ash, long since dead, but plainly
marked by the claws of bears, was likewise a
friendly landmark and he whispered, “Hello,
there, you look natural!” as he might have done
in greeting a fellow creature.

Making rapid progress now, for he hoped Ree
would be waiting at the hollow whitewood, the
returned explorer arrived in the vicinity of that
rendezvous somewhat before noon. As his custom
was, he made a wide circuit to reconnoiter
before going to the tree itself, taking every step
with care and keeping eyes wide open in all
directions.

John did not expect to see anyone or to find
anything unusual in thus spying out “the lay of
the land.” He never had found the coast otherwise
than clear; still he had no intention of
revealing the fine hiding place in the old poplar
by lack of reasonable prudence and so walked
guardedly and with every sense alert. Something
like a shadow moved among the trees and
bushes a hundred yards ahead. It might be
only a bird, or a squirrel or some larger animal,
but John sheltered himself behind a tree and
looked again more carefully.

“Lone-Elk!”

The name he thought, but did not utter, and
the sight of its owner sent a thrill through
Little Paleface that made him hold his
breath. The Indian was moving through the
woods with an easy, natural stealth, so light,
so silent, that if he had had the power of making
himself all but invisible it could not have
seemed more wonderful.

John’s first thought was that the Seneca was
looking for him; but he quickly saw that this
could not be, for his eyes were turned steadily
and keenly in another direction.

“The lead mine! He is stealing up to the
secret lead mine just like a ghost!” was the
boy’s second mental exclamation.

But again John was wrong, as the reader
will have guessed. It was upon Return Kingdom
that the Indian had his eyes, and it was
fortunate indeed for Little Paleface that the
Seneca was too occupied in that direction to
look in any other; for so intensely interested
did the lad become in watching the creature’s
cat-like movements that he stood fairly in the
open, an object of easy discovery had his presence
been suspected.

The temptation came to John to shoot his
accuser down. Had he not the right to kill one
who at sight would kill him? he asked himself;
and a half minute later, when he found that it
was his bosom friend that the redskin was so
secretly pursuing, he was doubly-tempted to
make an end of him. One bullet would do it.
One bullet would settle this whole miserable
witchcraft business. But how? What good
would it do to have Lone-Elk out of the way if
it became known that the “witch” was his
slayer?

Then John saw, or thought he saw, that Kingdom
knew he was followed. The whole truth
came to him. Ree had set out to go to the whitewood
but, being tracked by the Indian, had purposely
refrained from going there.

Resolving to keep Lone-Elk in sight to give
Kingdom any assistance he could, should the
actions of the Indian become seriously threatening,
John followed after them. He allowed
between himself and the Seneca as great a distance
as was possible, still keeping him in view,
but so swift and silent were the fellow’s movements
that it was a puzzle for the eye to follow
him.

With increasing interest in the mysterious
game his friend and the Indian were playing,
John did not at once realize that, after one
sharp turn he had made, Ree was headed homeward.
When he did make this discovery, however,
it was only to decide that he would go,
too, and thus was presented in the wilderness
depths the odd picture of one person being unrelentingly
trailed by another, who, in turn, was
watched and followed by a third.

But even stranger things the unbounded
woods of the early days full often witnessed.
Stranger dreams have never come to man than
were many of the realities of life in the wilds
of the middle west a hundred and odd years
ago.

While from one point at the clearing’s edge
Lone-Elk unceasingly bent his eyes upon the
little log house on the bluff, John Jerome did likewise
from another. John, however, had two
objects to keep within his scrutiny. One, and
the most important one, was the Seneca. Still
he had ample opportunity to see what Ree was
doing, and with particular interest he watched
his chum sit eating and drinking in the doorway.

“And here I am, most starved, within sight
of him!” the weary boy reflected. “Just wait
till it’s dark, you lonely old Elk you, and if
you don’t do something then, I will!”

An hour had passed since night closed in.
Return Kingdom still watched from loopholes,
wondering in vain, looking in vain, to know
what the Seneca’s nocturnal tactics would be.
No sign of the Indian had he seen since darkness
shut out the view across the clearing.

What was that noise? Ree started violently.
The horses moved as if some one had come in
the barn. In another second his ear was at a
crack in the wall between the lean-to stable and
the cabin, and he knew that something besides
the horses was stealthily moving—yes, moving
toward him; he heard it plainly now. What
could that miserable, sneaking, malicious Indian
be up to now! And then a whisper—

“Oh, Ree!”

“Blessed stars, John!” was the startled,
whispered answer. “How did you come here?
Don’t you know Lone-Elk is watching the house
this very minute?”

But nevertheless it was with a feeling of much
relief and real pleasure that, when Jerome had
whispered back, “Well, I guess I do,” Ree told
him to creep in through the “cat-hole,” while
he himself noiselessly double-barred the cabin
door.

“Why, you had me scared into a catnip fit,”
said Kingdom, still whispering, as he felt about
in the darkness for John’s hand.

“Did I? But say, do you know it’s snowing?
And how I’m to get away again, now that I’m
here, without making a trail that a blind man
could follow, I’m blest if I can tell.”

“Never mind that now, old chap,” was the
hopeful answer. “Rest yourself and I’ll see
what I can lay hands on for you to eat. I’ve
got a few things to tell you after awhile.”

“Things to tell, Ree? Cracky, so have I!”

And Lone-Elk, sullen and ugly, determined
and relentless, still watched the cabin with unremitting
perseverance from the deeper shadows
of the woodpile at the clearing’s edge.

CHAPTER XIV—THE MYSTERIOUS CAMP IN THE GULLY
============================================

“Honestly, my neck’s out of joint, looking
around trees all day,” John declared. But he
was so light-hearted, so glad to be home again,
that he fairly giggled as he spoke.

“Faith! I’m glad you’re here, unhealthy as
it is for you,” Kingdom answered. “What with
Lone-Elk always just over my shoulder, and
now with the snow on the ground, I don’t know
how I’d ever have managed to get to you in the
woods!” And so the boys fell to telling each
other all that each had been doing and all that
had happened since their last meeting.

Kingdom showed the greatest interest in the
discovery of the bodies of the two men whom
John had found dead under the brush heap at
the salt springs. He inquired for every shred of
information possible for John to give him, and
tried his best to determine whether the murder
had been committed by Indians or white men.
If it was done by white persons, he declared,
the slayer or slayers had at any rate tried to
make it appear that Indians were the guilty
ones. The carrying off the scalps of the dead
and removing all valuables from the bodies indicated
this.

“Still, I don’t see what it signifies, or how it
makes any great difference to us, one way or
another,” said John, as Ree intimated that he
would have looked into the matter more thoroughly
had it been he who made the discovery.

“Why, of course you do, John! Just think
a minute! I’ve told you about seeing that camp
in the little hollow and the salt spread out to
dry. Now, then, where did that salt come from
if not from the big ‘lick’? You mark my word
that when we find out whose camping place that
is, or was, we will know pretty well who did
that killing. What we ought to do is to carry
the whole story to Wayne’s men or to Fort Pitt;
but it wouldn’t do any good to go there merely
telling that we had found a couple of men dead.
Persons are found dead along the border, somewhere,
every day in the year. But if we could
go to Wayne, or anyone else, and show them
that the murderers were white robbers, and not
simply sneaking redskins, there would be more
of a chance to call somebody to account.”

“That’s so,” John answered rather thoughtfully,
yet in a way which showed Ree that he did
not quite understand.

“Why, certainly!” Kingdom exclaimed somewhat
warmly. “If the camp I saw was the
camp of the murderers, who is it likely that
they are? British! That’s what! British from
Detroit, over in this part of the woods for no
good purpose—spying around Fort Pitt or
stirring the Indians up to hostilities! And that
camp I saw was a white man’s camp! Indians
don’t care much about salt to begin with, and
in the second place what white men would be
traveling in this direction and carrying salt
with them but some one headed for Detroit or
some other settlement off that way?”

But having reached a conclusion that Indians,
and no one else, were responsible for the two
dead bodies beneath the brush pile, John could
not easily get the notion out of his mind, and
his interest in Kingdom’s speculations was
therefore much less than ordinarily it would
have been.

On the other hand Ree pieced together every
scrap of evidence he could find—the stained
glove that John had picked up, the indications
he noticed that others had journeyed toward
the “lick” from the west, and the certainty his
own find presented that some one had lately
obtained salt, presumably from the springs, in
quite considerable quantities.

Extremely tired and too drowsy, now that he
was in the midst of warmth and comfort again,
to think much of the danger of his position,
John fell into a doze on his bunk while Kingdom
still pondered upon the salt springs mystery.
In the darkness Ree did not at once notice
that Jerome was asleep. Later he made the
discovery and it was quite like him that he covered
his friend over with a bearskin, and set
himself to watch till daybreak.

It was fairly light when John awoke. Ree
had already been out and the tracks he found
showed that Lone-Elk had abandoned his watch.
He had gone some time after it stopped snowing
in the night, but there was no knowing when
he might return.

Although the fact did not occur to either of
the two boys at the time, the coming of the snow
was, under the circumstances, a blessing in disguise.
For the Seneca, after watching vigilantly
until nearly morning, and feeling confident
that no one except Kingdom had entered the
cabin, was equally sure that no one would do
so now that the snow would at once reveal the
trail. With this thought in mind he had quit
his post and, so far as his own trail showed,
had returned again to the town beside the lake.

The perfect quiet within the clearing, and the
sense of comfort and greater security which Ree
found in having companionship once more,
permitted him to be persuaded to lie down for the
sleep and rest he so greatly needed, while the
younger of the lads did guard duty at the loopholes
in the cabin wall. At the first sign of
anyone approaching, it was agreed he should
call Ree, then quickly conceal himself in the
loft. Sooner than the boys expected, the worth
of their plan was put to the test.

A party of seven Indians, Wyandots from the
region of Sandusky, traveling up the river in
canoes, landed that morning at the point where
the river met the portage trail, near the cabin
of the young Palefaces. As did most of the Indians
for many miles around, they knew of the
presence of the two venturesome white lads in
the wilderness, and did not hesitate to stop for
a warm bite to eat and to see what the Paleface
brothers offered in the way of trade.

Little did the Wyandots guess as they drew
near the cabin, however, the flurry their presence
caused inside. A mere whisper from John
awakened Ree. In a twinkling the latter sent
Jerome climbing into the loft “like a scared
rabbit into its hole,” as he afterward expressed it,
and pulling the little ladder up after him.

Kingdom greeted the visitors in his pleasantest
manner. They spread their hands before
the bright blaze in the big fireplace, and ate
heartily of the meat he set before them. Nevertheless,
when the strangers showed a disposition
to look about rather more closely than
seemed natural, even standing on tip-toe to peer
into the loft, the lad grew decidedly uneasy.

As for John, he watched through a crack all
that went on below with a great deal of interest,
indeed. He was scarcely more than a foot
above the heads of the taller Indians. The least
sound from his direction would reach them and
excite their suspicion.

Would the Wyandots *never* go?

Before they had been five minutes in the cabin
Ree was wondering why they lingered so.
Every second was magnified sixtyfold as he
watched and waited, doing his best to appear
perfectly at ease.

“Much skins up here,” one swarthy young
fellow with a single black and red feather in
his hair remarked, and with his foot on a stool
climbed partially into the loft.

“Oh, not many—you come down now,
brother! You’ll bring poles and all down on
our heads,” Ree answered, and quickly drawing
the Wyandot down, placed the stool in a place
where it would not be so readily available for
such use again.

“Have the Wyandots any salt to trade for
knives or cloth or anything else we have for
them?” asked Kingdom, hoping to obtain information
which might be valuable.

“No salt; Injuns got no salt. Paleface get
big heap salt at big ‘lick,’” answered the leader
of the band. “Paleface over yonder—him have
salt. Him trade, maybe.”

“Where? Where over yonder do you mean?”
Kingdom inquired, pretending to be little interested.

“Over yonder—down river. Him have camp
piece back from river, yonder.”

“Just one man, is it!” Ree asked.

“Ugh! two—leben—four—cuss! Injun don’t
know!” the Wyandot returned, and seeing that
the redskin suspected that he was being
“pumped,” Ree changed the subject as naturally
as he could.

Every moment that the Wyandots tarried the
boy feared their next words would be to ask
where John was. All the Indians knew there
were two of the white boys, and that they were
usually together. Had these travelers learned
of the charge of witchcraft against Little Paleface?
Kingdom dared not turn their thoughts
in that direction by any words pertaining to the
subject, and he was glad enough to say goodbye
to them, at last, even though on this point
he had gleaned no information.

There was no need for Kingdom to tell what
had been said and done by the visitors when,
after they were well out of sight, John came
clambering down from the loft.

“I’m getting awful tired of being a witch,
Ree,” the latter began, peeping out of a loophole.
“What in the world’s the use of our
staying here and living this way? I’m not complaining,
old boy, you know I’m not; but this
sort of thing is likely to last all winter. You
can’t find out how Big Buffalo was killed, and
until you know, every mother’s son of those
Delawares swallow all that Lone-Elk tells them.
So how’s it going to end? Am I to jump and
run like a whipped pup, all winter, every time
we hear a noise?”

“Just you wait, my son,” Kingdom answered,
quite gaily. “We know that the Seneca’s hold
on Captain Pipe is his secret lead mine. Suppose
we find that mine! Mr. Pipe will be glad
to find out where it is. There! Now you see
what I mean. You’re just feeling a little cross
because you had to stay out of sight. But here’s
another thing, John. We agree that we don’t
intend to let any one Indian chase us away from
here; but we have some business on hand besides
that. We’ve got to find out, if we can, who
killed those men at the salt springs. With all
the reason we have for believing that the murderers
are camped out just about under our
very noses, we’re bound to look after them,
especially if they’re white men, and—well, you
heard what the Wyandots said just two minutes
ago. Don’t you think, either, John,” the older
lad concluded very soberly, “that I don’t see
the danger we are in. I see it big and strong
all around us; but we’ve gone too far to turn
back unless we have to. If we can come out
ahead of Lone-Elk just once, there will be no
danger of his ever troubling us again. Pipe and
all the Delawares will be our solid friends for
all time. We don’t want to sacrifice all we have
done here and the good start we’ve made, do we,
John?”

Ree’s last sentence was an appeal. Jerome
might have argued against every other point,
but not against that. “We’ll stay here till
water runs up hill, Ree, before we’ll budge an
inch except we want to,” he declared with quiet
emphasis. “So what are we going to do next?”
he added.

“Wait till the snow’s gone,” Ree answered
cheerily. “It’s thawing fast now and by
afternoon we can hunt up that camp where I saw the
salt spread out. Until then we will have to
watch out that Lone-Elk doesn’t come prowling
around again.”

“Good thing it’s all we have to do. It’s
enough to keep one man busy,” John returned,
and undoubtedly he was right; but nevertheless
their labor was for nothing this time. The
Seneca was not discovered, nor was there a
single visitor to the neighborhood of the clearing.

Kingdom’s prediction that the snow would
soon be gone was quickly verified; for the wind
having changed to the southwest, a rain came
up by noon which completed the work of the
sun very quickly.

Call to mind the most gloomy, misty, wet and
altogether disagreeable fall day you can remember,
and you will have a fair idea of the sort
of afternoon on which John Jerome and Return
Kingdom tramped cautiously through the woods
in search of the camp of the suspected salt
spring murderers. The gloom in the thicker
portions of the forest was little short of actual
darkness and the mist or fog became so dense,
as time went on, that objects were indistinguishable
at a distance of more than a few yards.

The secret nature of their expedition and
Kingdom’s oft expressed belief that the camp
they sought was occupied by British traders, or
even soldiers from about Detroit, caused both
the boys to feel a great deal of importance attaching
to their undertaking. Just what they
expected to discover, however, or what they intended
saying regarding the purpose of their
visit, in case they found the birds in their nest,
neither of the two could very well have told.

Time and its developments answer many
questions and so were the questions confronting
Ree and John disposed of a little later.
Kingdom had little difficulty in leading the way
to the camp he had so strangely discovered.
His familiarity with the woods for miles around
would have made any spot in the vicinity of
the cabin easily located.

Favored by the mist and semi-darkness, the
two boys readily approached very near to the
edge of the little bluff from which they could
look down upon the camp without danger of
their presence being discovered. Then on hands
and knees they went forward more cautiously.

The birds, were gone. The nest was there,
just as Ree had seen it, except that the salt had
been taken away; but the camp was unoccupied
and the ruins of the campfire were cold and
water-soaked.

With much curiosity the two young detectives
inspected the deserted camp and its surroundings.
Nothing could they find to indicate who
its makers had been or whither they had gone.
In vain did they examine the ground within a
radius of several yards from the heap of dead
ashes. They discovered not so much, as a footprint.

Compelled at last to give up their search in
disappointment, the boys were about to climb
out of the protected nook the bluff formed on
three sides of the camp, when John observed a
small pile of wood such as would be gathered
for a campfire in the forest. It was partially
covered with leaves and being a rod or two
from the site of the camp had not sooner been
noticed.

“It may mean that they’re coming back and
it may not,” the lad remarked. As he spoke he
saw Kingdom pick up something a few feet
away and quietly put it in his pocket.

“At any rate they’re gone,” Ree answered.
“We may as well go, too.”

The boys climbed the ascent to the higher
ground without further comment. When they
had gone some distance John asked:

“What was it that you found, Ree? I thought
I saw you pick something up.”

“What do you think, John? It was a glove,
the mate to that other one. What do you think
of that?” was the low but earnest answer.

And while the boys hurried quietly through
the woods, there emerged from a small cave,
screened from view by sumac and other bushes,
in the little ravine, a roughly dressed man who
climbed the bluff and gazed after them.

CHAPTER XV—THE GIFT OF WHITE WAMPUM
===================================

The effect on the minds of the boys of the
discovery Kingdom had made was much the
same as if they had seen a ghost. A vague fear
of something unexpressed and unknown took
possession of them and they hastened through
the misty, sodden forest as though expecting
every minute to be pursued. Kingdom remarked
about their apprehensiveness.

“We act like a couple of thieves,” he declared,
“the way we are hurrying to get away!
But suppose we were seen hunting around that
camp and it was noticed that I picked up this
glove; it wouldn’t be exactly healthy for us, I
suppose? Still, it’s not that that makes us both
nervous and fidgety as a fox in a trap; but what
is it?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking
of those two dead men under the brush pile;
just can’t help it;” said John. “The man that
wore those gloves knows how the bodies came
there, I’ll bet a buckskin!”

“Of course,” was the answer, “but that’s
just what I have suspected all along. The deuce
of it now is to know what we’re going to do
about it.”

The darkness was coming on most rapidly.
The dark, gray clouds seemed to settle down to
the very ground. In half an hour it would be
quite impossible to find one’s way safely through
the woods, for not a breath of wind was stirring;
there would be absolutely nothing by which
to be guided.

Seeing the importance of quickly reaching the
neighborhood of the clearing, Kingdom proposed
that John seek shelter for the night in
the old whitewood while he continued on to the
cabin. They would meet again soon after daybreak
in the morning.

Having had some such plan in mind when setting
out from home, the boys had blankets and
provisions with them, and Jerome readily
agreed to Ree’s suggestion.

As the hollow poplar was now not far away,
they parted company at once. Kingdom promised
to leave the cabin before daylight again,
if he could do so without discovery, and to meet
John at the whitewood for another visit to the
camp in the gully.

“And you wait for me, whatever happens,”
Kingdom said in admonition. “I’ll be worrying
all night if I think you’re prowling around
by yourself.”

“Worry fiddlesticks!” ejaculated the younger
lad, with a laugh. “What if I were to be worried
about you?”

So the good-byes were said and ten minutes
later John was snugly settled in the protecting
trunk of the big hollow tree, glad enough to rest
after his long tramp.

Kingdom, meanwhile, was hurrying on at increased
speed. He aimed to travel in a sort of
semicircle so as to approach the cabin from a
direction which would give no clue to the locality
from which he had come. He had little
doubt that Lone-Elk would be watching for him.
Indeed, it was only the great probability that
the Seneca would be prowling about the vicinity
of the clearing that had made it seem necessary
that he return home instead of spending the
night with John. The boys wished to keep the
Indian in ignorance of the fact that the “witch”
was in the neighborhood at all. If they could
succeed in this for a time, the redskins, Lone-Elk
particularly, would conclude at last that
search for the missing boy was useless.

The complete darkness, the thick, cold mist
and utter silence which pervaded the clearing
and made it seem certainly the most desolate
place in the world as he entered it, would have
depressed and frightened bolder hearts than
Kingdom’s. He hurried up the familiar path,
and ascended the slope to the little log house
with dread. A whinny came from the stable.
What a welcome sound it was! And when, five
minutes later, the blaze in the big fireplace was
dispelling the shadows, it seemed also to dispel
the dreadful feeling of vague fear and
homesickness from Ree’s mind. He was himself
again.

Worn out with much work and little rest for
two days, Kingdom retired early. He knew
that the dispirited condition, which sapped his
courage and destroyed his peace of mind and
self-confidence, was due to his being completely
tired out, and that sleep would make all the
next day’s problems seem easy by putting him
in shape to meet them. And so thinking he
fell asleep.

It was near midnight, Kingdom thought,
though really much earlier, when he was awakened.
Some one rapped at the door,—quietly,
secretly. Again he heard it,—thump, thump!—two
short, quick taps, sounding as if made
with finger tips.

“John!” was Ree’s first thought; and he was
out of his bunk in a second.

“Who is it?” he asked in a low tone, before
opening the door.

“Fishing Bird has something to tell white
brother,” came the answer in tones so guarded,
that, filled with wonder and anxiety, Kingdom
unbarred and opened the door in a trice.

Instantly the Indian entered and Ree closed
the door again. He felt, rather than saw, that
the redskin was bedraggled, wet, cold and
weary. He drew the visitor to the fireplace and
sat him down. Though covered with ashes, the
warm bed of coals gave off a comfortable degree
of heat, and while the Indian leaned over
the warm hearth, his host, still wondering,
brought him meat and a dish of hominy.

Fishing Bird ate heartily. As he was doing
so, a tiny flame, which for a second blazed up
above the ashes, showed that his condition was
even worse than Ree had pictured it. From the
soles of his worn-out moccasins to the top of the
uncombed hair falling in coarse, untidy strings
about his ears and down his back, he was very
wet and very dirty.

“What news, Fishing Bird?” Ree asked,
when he had dressed and the visitor had eaten
all he wished. “I’ve been wanting to see you
for many days.”

“Ugh! Lone-Elk very bad!” the Indian replied,
meditatively. “Fishing Bird watch him
all day, watch him in the night, too. He goes
many places, and don’t go nowhere.”

Kingdom repressed a smile. He guessed at
once that his friend had been trying to follow
the Seneca to the secret lead mine, and had only
his labor to show for it. A moment later the
Indian confirmed this supposition.

“Lone-Elk gone all day long and comes to
the Delaware village in the night,” Fishing
Bird went on. “Lone-Elk brings no lead. Next
morning—today—Lone-Elk goes again and
Fishing Bird follows behind. Maybe Lone-Elk
be going to where lead is; maybe going to watch
young Palefaces. But him walk, walk, walk, all
the time going on and on and never getting anywhere
at all. Never looking back; never knowing
Fishing Bird comes on behind, so Lone-Elk
went here, went there, all day. Night came and
in the dark Lone-Elk got away and Fishing
Bird couldn’t watch him any more.”

“Maybe he was hunting for Little Paleface,”
Kingdom suggested.

“Lone-Elk bad—a mean, bad Seneca Indian!”
the weary and disgusted Delaware made
answer. “Now Fishing Bird will tell news he
came for. White Fox knows how Lone-Elk
found tomahawk in the corn—how Lone-Elk
told that it was the witch’s hatchet—same
hatchet that killed Big Buffalo. So Lone-Elk
hangs the tomahawk at the door of his lodge
and says with that hatchet he will kill the witch
that killed the Delaware warrior. One time,
two times, three times, did tomahawk fall down
when Lone-Elk had hung it up. One time Lone-Elk
a little mad. Two times Lone-Elk pretty
mad. Three times, when hatchet fall down,
Lone-Elk heap much mad.

“Neoliaw tell Lone-Elk not to hang tomahawk
up like that any more. Neoliaw knows
much. No Delaware knows all things like Neoliaw;
yet Lone-Elk holds his head high and asks
if Neoliaw thinks the Seneca is but a squaw to
be frightened by such talk.”

The Indian paused. Much interested, Kingdom
waited with impatience for him to continue,
but at length asked:

“And what did the medicine-man of the Delawares
say to that? What did Neohaw say?”

“Neohaw tell Lone-Elk never mind. Some
day tomahawk have more blood on it than now.
Maybe it be Seneca blood.”

“Do the Delawares still believe all that Lone-Elk
tells them about how Big Buffalo was killed
by a witch, and believe that the witch was our
friend, John?” Kingdom inquired.

Fishing Bird nodded. “White brother shall
hear more,” he said, a moment later, as if having
decided to reveal something he had at first
thought he would not tell. “Listen, White Fox.
Lone-Elk knows where lead is. Lone-Elk is a
mighty warrior. Hopocon, that you call Captain
Pipe, wants Lone-Elk in the fighting that
will come bime-by, and wants lead for Delawares,
Chippewas, Wyandots,—all the Indians
that will be in the fighting off yonder,” waving
his hand toward the west and north. “So
Hopocon sends white wampum as presents to
the Seneca tribe for squaw of the warrior Lone-Elk
killed. Because Lone-Elk killed a warrior,
White Fox knows, he can go back never to his
own people. Only if the presents, sent by
Hopocon, are taken by the squaw of the warrior
that was killed, will Lone-Elk be free to
go here, go there, like other Indians. Then
Hopocon will make him a Delaware.”

Ree did not know until now the history of the
outcast Seneca. He had known that Lone-Elk
was a fugitive, but never before more than suspected
the reason. In a general way he understood
the Indian custom that if the nearest relative
of one who was murdered received and accepted
from the murderer or his friends a present
in token of regret and sorrow—usually
white wampum—it meant that the crime was
forgiven and fully wiped out.

He knew, also, that if such a present was refused
by the relatives or friends of the dead,
that it meant but one thing—that at the first
opportunity they would have their revenge by
taking the life of the murderer. The custom
had prevailed among the Iroquois and many
of the other Indians for generations. It was
implicitly followed.

The refusal of the peace offering usually
meant eternal unforgiveness. It meant the
exile of the murderer from his own tribe and
the villages of his fathers forever. It meant
death whenever one or more of the friends of
the person killed started out to seek vengeance,—death
swift and certain—unless the murderer
succeeded in escaping them; but, once on the
trail, the avengers knew no pause, no rest, no
hardship too great to be undertaken, until their
mission was accomplished.

Instantly realizing the great importance of
Fishing Bird’s information, Ree asked him to
go on and tell more of the Seneca’s history.

The friendly Delaware, however, seemed to
believe that he had told enough. Maybe he regretted
that he had already been so confidential.
He sought to speak of other things, therefore,
until Kingdom asked point blank:

“Will the friends of the one whom Lone-Elk
killed be likely to accept the presents that have
been sent, Fishing Bird?”

The Delaware nodded decidedly in the affirmative
at first, then shook his head. He
didn’t know and couldn’t guess, he stated, what
view the dead man’s relatives would take of
the matter. It was the usual thing to receive
such presents and grant forgiveness. A great
deal depended on the nature of the crime, and
the details of the murder Lone-Elk had committed,
Fishing Bird did not know, or if he did,
he pretended ignorance.

He believed the Seneca had struck another
down with a tomahawk, and had afterward hidden
the hatchet near the Delaware town to
which he had originally escaped, and whither he
had again come after the battle with St. Clair’s
army. At least that was the story the squaws
had whispered to one another. The warriors
were too proud to take notice of such matters,
especially since Lone-Elk, by his prowess, by
his constant activity, and afterward by his
knowing of the lead mine, had become a leader
among them.

All this information Fishing Bird rather reluctantly
imparted. He was very tired and just
a little cross. In response to some further questioning
he said, plainly showing his impatience:

“Fishing Bird has told the white brothers
they must not stay here. Still it has done no
good. Fishing Bird is the friend of the two
young Palefaces, yet they must not ask of him
what no Delaware can do.”

“Come, Fishing Bird,” Ree answered kindly,
“we are not going to ask you to endanger yourself
or any of your people on our account. We
know and appreciate how much you have helped
us, and but for one thing we would probably go
away as you suggest. And now there is only
one more question I want to ask you; then you
must lie down and rest till morning. Does Fishing
Bird know of any other Palefaces, besides
White Fox and Little Paleface, who are in
the woods here; any who have been getting salt
somewhere?”

The Delaware had lost his spunky feeling entirely
when he answered. He did not, he said,
know of any other white persons in the woods
anywhere about. He was quite sure there was
none; for the Indians were very watchful now,
lest Paleface spies come among them, and
would be quite sure to discover any white persons
who came near.

A little later Ree spread a blanket and some
skins upon the floor and urged Fishing Bird to
lie down; but instead, the Indian rose to go, nor
could he be prevailed upon to remain. Thinking
that perhaps he wished to be back to the
village before the Seneca returned, Kingdom
reluctantly opened the door for him, and he
went forth into the cold and darkness, and the
thick, raw mist swallowed him up immediately.

CHAPTER XVI—A MIDNIGHT SUPPER
=============================

Seated on a bed of dry leaves in the snug
shelter of the old whitewood, John Jerome ate
his supper. Kingdom had made fresh corn
bread and hominy and roasted a whole quarter
of a deer during his otherwise enforced idleness
a couple of days earlier, and all these
things were very much to John’s taste. He enjoyed
his supper so much, indeed, and felt so
strong and hearty after he had eaten and rested
for a time, that he crept out from his retreat
and stood upright among the bushes concealing
the hiding place.

It lacked a little of being totally dark. Except
for the dense fog, or mist, it would still be
almost daylight, John thought, as he looked
about him. He didn’t feel like lying down to
sleep at once. No, he wouldn’t either. He
would go out just a little way beyond the thicket
and see if he could not discover some sign of a
campfire down in the gully. That pile of wood
which he and Ree had found was not there for
nothing. It meant that the camp was not permanently
abandoned. At any rate, he would
see what he could see.

With some such reflections, by way of excusing
himself for doing what Kingdom had told
him not to do, John made his way cautiously
and slowly toward the protected valley and the
mysterious camp there hidden. No light of any
kind shone in that direction, however, and he
reasoned with himself that it was useless to go
further. Still, he thought, there could be no
harm and no danger either when veiled by such
a mist in going clear up to the edge of the bluff.

Even while making excuses to himself John
was edging stealthily onward. Soon the brink
of the steep descent was just before him. He
could not see into the valley but his familiarity
with the trees and general lay of the land assured
him that he had to go only a little farther
to obtain a view of the mysterious camping
place.

In his eagerness the venturesome young man
was quite forgetful of danger. Making scarcely
an effort to conceal himself, indeed, he was
pushing steadily forward when suddenly he
was recalled to a realization of his carelessness
in a manner he long remembered.

With one foot on a fallen log, in the act of
rising up to step quietly down on the other side,
John unconsciously paused for an instant to
get his balance. As he did so a scarcely audible
sound of light but rapid footfalls greeted his
ears, and the same moment there came into
view the erect and muscular figure of the
Seneca.

The Indian was hardly more than five yards
distant. Even in the thick mist and semi-darkness
he must have seen John immediately had
he paused or so much as turned his head for an
instant. Fortunately he did neither and in
another second he was out of sight.

“The lead mine!” Jerome whispered, and
immediately his imagination pictured some hidden
cavern near, and the Indian in the midst of
the treasure.

Intent on following the redskin, if possible,
the foolhardy boy did not stop to reason or reflect.
After Lone-Elk he went and with such
speed that soon the savage was only a few paces
before him. The Indian halted for a moment.
Again brought to the use of his sounder judgment
with a jerk, John Jerome stopped no less
quickly. Whether some sound, or the prompting
of some other of his keen senses had caused
the Seneca to pause, the white boy could not
determine. But when the Indian moved on,
changing his course and heading more directly
toward the river, the lad thought twice before
he followed.

Could it be that Lone-Elk, well aware that
he was being trailed, was only leading his pursuer
on, suddenly to turn and kill him when the
time and place were to his liking? The thought
made John quite uncomfortable.

Then, boy-like, he thought of the lead mine
again, thereby deliberately putting temptation
before himself; and the next moment he was
again in pursuit of the Indian. He heard the
fellow now and then, some distance in advance,
but did not catch sight of him. It was quite
dark now. He must be careful or he would
come quite up to the savage without discovering
him.

Continuing cautiously, John had traversed
nearly a quarter of a mile when he noticed that
he no longer heard any sound of the Indian’s
movements. In vain he listened. The dark,
mist-soaked forest was still as death. How in
the world could the slippery redskin have disappeared
so suddenly?

Afraid to go on lest he fall fairly into the
Seneca’s arms, hesitating to turn back, the
mystified boy stood pondering.

“There’s nothing for it but to make a note of
this place and come again by daylight. The
mine may be very near here,” John told himself
at last. “It might be all right to wait and
see if I don’t see a light, after awhile. I most
likely would see one if the mine is close by; but
it’s getting so dark now, and—”

And John Jerome was lost. He looked about,
as he reached the conclusion that he must return
to his tree, but it was only to realize that
he knew not which way to go. How careless
he had been! Why had he not observed more
carefully the turnings of the chase he had been
led? The darkness was deepening fast. He
could not see the trees which but a brief time
since were distinctly visible.

“Of all the scatter-brain idiots that ever followed
a wagon off, I’m the worst,—I am for
sure!” the anxious lad told himself, but with
quiet determination set about to retrace his
steps as best he could.

Not a dozen steps had John taken, however,
when he came in contact with a mass of low
tangled underbrush. It had not obstructed the
way before. Plainly then, he was headed in the
wrong direction. Turning, he groped his way
first to the right, then to the left. It was all to
no purpose; for not one familiar object could he
discover, not one thing could he find which
would help him to get his bearings.

To be confused and uncertain which way to
go in the darkness in one’s own home is a most
unpleasant predicament. North seems south
and right seems left.

On a larger scale and with the calculating
part of the situation entirely removed, it was
just such a predicament as this in which John
was forced at last to acknowledge himself.
Worn out, and filled with disappointment and
the increasing despair which came with his
every attempt to find the direction in which he
wished to go, the lad sat down at the foot of a
large tree to think. If he could but rid himself
of the bewilderment that made him unable even
to study out the probability as to which way
was which, he would fare much better, he was
sure. But the more he tried, the more uncertain
he became.

The ground was cold and very wet. The
coarse bark of the tree, against which his hand
was placed, was moist and clammy to the touch.
From the branches above, drops of water came
dripping at intervals making what seemed a
loud noise as they fell upon the leaves. The
security and comparative comforts of the old
whitewood seemed very pleasant indeed, now
that they were so far from reach, and more than
once John wished he had not left them. If the
mist would but clear away and the clouds break
enough to let him see the stars, he would be able
to find his way. Until then, he concluded at
last, he would do well to remain where he was.

For a long time. John had remained close to
the tree at whose base he had first sat down.
Sometimes sitting, sometimes standing, always
listening and watching, he believed he had spent
the larger part of the long night, when he heard
at no great distance the sounds of an axe. Instantly
his attention was centered on the noise.
It came from the right, the direction in which
he felt the hollow poplar to be, though he knew,
from trying, that his impression was wrong.

Who could be using an axe in the depths of
the forest at midnight? There could be but one
answer to the question—the men at the camp
in the gully or Lone-Elk.

Thoroughly aroused, John vowed he would
learn more. He would see, if he could, what the
noise meant. Visions of the lead mine came to
him, too, and without more ado he began to feel
his way among the trees and through the darkness
in the direction from which the sounds
reached him. But in scarcely more than a minute
the chopping ceased. From the first it had
not been loud, sounding rather as if only small
bits of wood were being broken up. Now the
same awful quiet as before pervaded all the
woods.

Only a little way did John venture to go, with
nothing to serve as a guide. Very recent experience
had taught him the uselessness of trying.
But as he stood still, listening for some
further sound, he became aware of a certain
brightness in the mist some distance off. He
guessed at once its meaning. “They were cutting
wood to kindle a fire, of course,” he told
himself. “Now, then, my hunkies, we’ll see
who you are, at any rate!”

Slowly and with much care to move quietly,
John drew nearer the light. Very dull at first,
it brightened not a great deal as he approached,
so thick was the mist, and indeed it was not
until the lad was at the very brink of the bluff
above the little gully that he was sure of the
location of the fire. As he had supposed, however,
the abandoned camp was now occupied.
A kettle was hung upon a rude tripod and the
cheery blaze was mounting up above it on all
sides.

Nothing but the fire and the kettle above it
could John see, however, and if anyone was
about he was hidden by the fog. No sound
reached the watching boy either. Surely, he
thought, there was something mysterious here,
which hinted of dark secrets and of crime.
“But that kettle will boil dry if no one touches
it; I’ll see something if I wait long enough,”
John reflected, and he was not kept a great
while in suspense.

A tall, uncouth figure of a man dressed in
ragged coat and trousers, and wearing a shapeless
slouch hat, all of which contrasted oddly
with the moccasins on his feet, stepped suddenly
from the outer darkness close to the blaze
and stooped down, holding his arms about the
fire as if he would hug it to him. He shivered
and shook himself, then lifted the lid and peeped
into the kettle. Sniffing, and nodding his head
as though the kettle’s contents pleased him, he
returned the cover to the pot, then arose and
in another second the mist and darkness had
swallowed him up again.

To say that John Jerome was greatly interested
in what he saw would not be telling the
whole truth; for the fact was that he was not
only interested, but excited beyond measure.
His heart beat fast, and so strongly was he
tempted to call out to the fellow that he thought
he must hurry away, lest he yield to the strange
desire with results which would almost certainly
be unfortunate.

There was no doubt in John’s mind that here
was the murderer of the two men found dead at
the “lick.” He looked the part, seemed to
have “murder” stamped in every fold of his
tattered clothing, and on each separate hair of
his stubby beard. Even without the evidence
which Ree’s discovery of the glove had furnished,
Jerome would have been certain, he declared
within himself, that this man was a vile
wretch at best, and capable of committing murder,
even if he never had done so. Why was
he here? Why did he hide in so secret a place
and come out like a fugitive criminal at night
to kindle his fire and prepare his food? Where
did he stay by day?

These and many more questions came to John
as he watched and waited. He wondered, too,
whether the fellow was alone. It must be so.
He would hear voices otherwise. However, if
there were others present he probably would
see them soon. They, also, would draw near the
fire.

Again the mysterious man came into the firelight.
John had a better view of his face this
time, but the stubby beard and the long, coarse
hair which fell about the fellow’s ears concealed
his countenance from scrutiny. As before,
the man looked into the steaming kettle.
Then he rolled a small log nearer to the blaze
with his foot and sat down upon it. Presently
he lifted the pot from the fire and placed it beside
him, as if to cool.

“Ready for you, Lone-Elk, my boy,” the fellow
called quietly, and in answer to his hoarse
voice the outcast Seneca stepped into the circle
of light. As if perfectly at home, he, too, seated
himself upon the log, and together the repulsive
pair began to eat: The white man cut the meat
in the kettle with a heavy hunting knife and,
using their knives as spears, the two fished out
pieces of the boiled leg of venison, for such it
appeared to be, and ate greedily.

The sight of Lone-Elk caused John much
more alarm than he had yet felt. In a direct
line the Indian was but eight or nine yards distant.
Fortunately his back was turned, and yet
the slightest sound would reach him. Scarcely
daring to move, therefore, the lad who watched
the strange feast of the redskin and the scarcely
less savage-appearing white man, continued a
silent spectator of their repast. But when
Lone-Elk rose, as if he cared for nothing more,
and the white man also got up from the log, as
if to say good-bye, John waited no longer.
Cautiously as he could, he crept away, lest before
he could do so, the Seneca might be up the
steep slope and fairly upon him.

CHAPTER XVII—THE EXPLOSION
==========================

Thoughts of Simon Girty and of other renegade
white men, cut-throats and robbers who
had affiliated themselves with hostile Indians,
and become more wicked, more merciless, more
treacherous than the savages themselves, came
to John’s mind as he made what haste he could
away from the haunted ravine. His reflections
did not increase his mental comfort. Far from
it; for now he was more anxious than ever for
the coming of daylight, or at least a clearing of
the weather which would enable him to find
security while he pondered on what must be
done.

Fearing to go too far lest he again lose himself
in the fog, John sat down upon a little log,
over which he had partially stumbled, to await
the morning. He had listened as best he could
but had heard no sound of the Seneca leaving
the camp. He thought he had, perhaps, made
more haste to get away than was really necessary,
after all, and as his excitement cooled, he
was tempted again to take a peep at the strange
scene he had witnessed. This notion, however,
the lad put steadily behind him. He would not
be too venturesome, he told himself. Even as
it was he would get a good-natured scolding
from Kingdom for having left the old poplar.

The light in the distance, dimly visible
through the mist, slowly faded. The campfire
was dying out. Lone-Elk was gone now, no
doubt, but which direction had he taken? John
hoped he would not go to the clearing and by
hanging about there keep Kingdom from setting
forth. It would be remarkable if the Seneca
could find his way. Moreover, Ree would be
leaving the cabin before daylight. Maybe he
had started even now.

.. _`He wheeled and sent the redskin sprawling`:

.. figure:: images/illus-242.jpg
   :figclass: illustration
   :align: center
   :alt: HE WHEELED AND SENT THE REDSKIN SPRAWLING.

   HE WHEELED AND SENT THE REDSKIN SPRAWLING.

The dawn came just when John bad ceased to
look for and momentarily expect it. Indeed,
he was quite surprised to notice suddenly that
objects near were again visible. He made out
nothing clearly, but he could see a few feet in
each direction and it was enough. Without hesitation,
and almost without stopping to note the
way he was taking, he headed instinctively toward
the old poplar and without the least
trouble reached its shelter not many minutes
later.

His nerves still at high tension after the
night’s experience, Jerome’s efforts to catch a
wink of sleep were quite unavailing. He fell to
thinking of the probable results which would
have followed his shooting Lone-Elk as the Indian
sat beside the campfire. He thought more
of the secret lead mine and wondered if the villainous
appearing white man and the Seneca
were not partners in that enterprise. Surely
there was reason to believe such to be the case.
What other explanation of the white man’s
companionship with the Indian could be presented?

At last, when the daylight had fully come,
John fell asleep. He was still dreaming when
Ree Kingdom came and the latter, little
guessing that he had not been sleeping just as
soundly the whole night through, roused him
with:

“I declare, old chap, you seem to find this
old tree as comfortable as a feather bed!”

“Guess you would, too, Ree, if you’d been
watching midnight feasts, and didn’t know but
they were cannibal feasts at that, and had been
kept up all night.”

With a grin John noticed the surprise his
words caused, and a determination he had
formed earlier to break the news of his discoveries
gently was forgotten. In another minute
he had related the substance of his night’s adventure.

“Well, say! I think you did have a busy
night!” Ree exclaimed. “We’ve found the
mine, John! There’s no two ways about that!
If that lead mine is not within a mighty short
distance of the camp of those fellows, then I’m
no prophet!”

Kingdom’s interest and pleasure in the discovery
John had made could scarcely have been
greater. But putting the subject aside for the
moment, he gave his companion all the interesting
information obtained from Fishing Bird,
and the two then set about to plan their next
movements. Quite naturally both wished to
pay another visit to the strange camp in the
gully. To do so, however, involved much risk.
Lone-Elk might be, in fact, probably was, still
loitering near. Again, if the occupant or occupants
of the camp discovered that their presence
was known to other white men, they would
be very likely to change their location, and, no
doubt, do all in their power to conceal every
evidence of the lead mine’s existence.

“We’ve got to come upon them by surprise
and not only capture the murderers of the men
at the salt springs, but find the mine at the same
time,” said John.

“If the mine is there, which we don’t know,
but only believe,” Ree made answer. “Still,”
he went on, “there’s only one other way to do
it, and that is to keep a watch on the camp all
the time till we find out more about it.
Lone-Elk,—bless him!—is in the way of that program.
And there’s another thing to think about,
which is, what are we going to do with the murderers
when we capture them!”

“Well, we can hardly say,‘Come along now,
and be hanged, as you deserve,’” Jerome suggested.

For some time Kingdom was silent. At last
he said, very thoughtfully and slowly:

“John, you must go to Fort Pitt or to
Wayne’s army. You must tell whoever is in
charge just what has been found at the ‘lick’
and in the woods here. Bring back four or five
good men and we’ll seize the camp down there
and everything and everybody in it. The men
you bring can take the murderers back for trial,
and I only hope we can find some evidence that
will send the Seneca along with them.”

“But if we do, we may as well pull up stakes
and go along ourselves, Ree. The Delawares
would say we had been acting as spies for
Wayne, sure!”

“We can tell what to do about that when the
time comes,” was the answer. “We know now
that it won’t do for us to attack the camp alone.
We’d have a whole pack of warriors down on
us before we could get a day’s march away.
We know that a murder has been committed
and I hope we know what our solemn duty is,
even if the finding of the lead mine be left out
of consideration altogether.”

“Wouldn’t you rather find the mine without
letting everybody else know about it? I would,”
John argued. “Not but what I like your plan
all right,” he added, “but if Wayne’s army
gets to find out there is a lead mine, and finds
out where it is, too, I don’t see how the fact that
we know of it, the same as Lone-Elk, is going
to do us any good with King Pipe.”

This reasoning puzzled Kingdom. In one
way John was right, and he was forced to admit
it. But he argued that, as law-abiding citizens,
it was their duty to expose the murder that had
been committed; that if they did not do so, they
were parties to the crime, the more particularly
so since they held in their possession evidence
so positive against the slayers of the two men
at the springs.

“I don’t see why we need tell Wayne about
the mine at all. It hasn’t anything to do with
the case anyway,” Jerome made answer.

“All right. For we know of the one thing,
and the mine is just our supposition, after all,”
was Ree’s decision. “What we should or
shouldn’t tell we shall know when the time
comes. You start for Pittsburg today, and I’ll
manage somehow to keep yonder robbers’ roost
under my eye till you are back with some reliable
men. And I tell you, John, don’t bring
green militia men, but good fighters—men who
know the woods.”

“I feel it in my bones, Ree, that this is going
to be the end of the log house on the Cuyahoga,”
John remarked somewhat later. “Mind
you, I’m not scared, and I’m not particularly
caring if such a thing does happen, but the time
has come when we’ve got to be either with the
Indians or against them. Sure as the world, the
Delawares will go against us for good, if we
bring Wayne’s men here.”

“Maybe so; but we can only do what we think
is the right thing to be done. Then we can face
Captain Pipe or anybody else with a clean conscience.
Don’t be so glum, though! We’ve
come through trouble far worse than this, and
with flying colors!”

It may have been that John Jerome received
for a moment a glimpse of the future which
Kingdom did not have. The latter took a cheerful
view of the outcome of their plans. John
could not do so, though usually optimistic. He
did not hang back, however, nor question further
the wisdom of his companion’s desire to
put into the hands of the law the fact that two
apparently peaceable salt boilers had been most
wickedly slain.

Kingdom had brought to the hollow whitewood
a generous supply of provisions, also
fresh powder, lest John’s stock had become
damp and useless from the wet weather of the
day before. There was no reason, then, why
Jerome should not start at once with his message
to Wayne, or to Fort Pitt, if “Mad Anthony”
should be found no longer in his camp
lower down on the Ohio. Thus, soon after a
definite decision was reached by the boys, the
younger lad set out.

It was left to John to choose his own time
and course, but he told Ree he would aim to
strike the direct trail to Fort Pitt about a day’s
journey eastward from the cabin. With care,
he hoped to avoid all possibly hostile Indians,
and he would reach the Ohio in less than a week.
Wayne’s men would wish, no doubt, to visit the
salt springs to see the bodies of the murdered
men before undertaking to apprehend the murderers,
and so nearly two weeks must elapse
before he would see Kingdom again. The latter
agreed to be waiting for him, no matter
when he came, and was hopeful he would have
good news of some kind to impart by that time.
Encouraged thus, and more cheerful than he
had been for a time, John began his long
journey just as the shadows indicated the hour of
noon.

A south breeze and the sun had scattered the
mist and the weather gave promise of being fine
and warm for many days to come. John felt
the influence of nature’s brighter aspect at once
when fairly under way, and would have looked
upon his journey as upon a pleasant holiday
had he had Kingdom’s company. But that was
not to be and he could only resolve to cover as
much ground as possible every day. As he
thought of the object of his journey, too, his interest
in it increased and he anticipated with
much satisfaction his pride in guiding a small
company of soldiers through the woods on the
important mission, for which, he was sure, Gen.
Wayne would at once cause men to be detailed.

Anxious to avoid a possible meeting with
Lone-Elk, the young woodsman traveled with
much caution, especially this first day. Later,
when he had left the cabin far behind, he made
less effort to conceal his trail and ceased to
watch as vigilantly as before. To an accident,
as much as to any recklessness on his part, however,
was due the sudden ending of John’s expectations.

The boy had been three days upon the well-marked
trail leading to the Ohio river and
thence along that stream to Fort Pitt. It was
the evening of his fourth day since parting
from Kingdom. He kindled a small fire close
beside a large rock, thinking to have some warm
meat for supper, then go on a half mile or more
and sleep wherever chance offered. He would
thus be well away from the scene by the time
his fire attracted attention, if attract attention
it should.

John had placed his blanket and other surplus
baggage upon the big rock and walked some distance
away to gather fine, dry wood. Suddenly
a terrific explosion occurred. The young traveler
saw his fire go flying in all directions, while
a perfect shower of leaves, small sticks and bits
of earth was dashed likewise into the air. He
knew instantly what had happened. The extra
pouch of powder Ree had brought for him had
rolled from the big stone directly into the blaze.

There was only one thing to do and that must
be done quickly. The tremendous noise of the
explosion would be heard for a long distance.
So much louder than the report of a rifle was it
that if Indians or others were within hearing
they would most certainly make immediate investigation.
Without losing a moment, therefore,
John seized his blanket and other baggage
which had been jarred off the stone, but away
from the fire, fortunately, and rushed away
through the woods at high speed.

Now, anyone coming up to the place, drawn
thither by the great noise, would be most likely
to come by way of the trail, from one direction
or the other, John Jerome quite properly reasoned
so, leaving the path at a sharp angle, he
struck through the forest to the north.

Fortune plays strange tricks with all of us.
The whimsical dame played one on John which
he long remembered; for as he ran on and on
among the trees, dodging in and out among the
bushes in the dim twilight, he almost collided
with a party of Indians hurrying almost as fast
in one direction as he was fleeing in the other.

CHAPTER XVIII—FISHING BIRD IN TROUBLE
=====================================

The days were always long to Kingdom
when John was gone. From their childhood
they had been much together. Even in the time
of his bound-boy experience, with a harsh master
to serve, Ree had found time for play occasionally
only because John helped him with his
work. He had never known any other intimate
companion; had never cared for any. Now,
far from all other friends, he valued John
Jerome’s friendship all the more and counted
the days until the cheerful, helpful lad would
be returning.

Yet Kingdom had much to do even while he
watched and waited. Lone-Elk frequently
hovered near. He had grown more sullen and
ugly than at first and Ree had little doubt of
the fate the cabin would suffer if the Indian
were but given a chance to act without danger
that he would be discovered. To watch for the
Seneca’s coming, then, and to keep an eye on
him while he flitted about the edge of the
clearing, disappearing, reappearing, coming
and going like the ominous shadow he was,
became as much a daily task as the care of the
two horses.

Twice in a week’s time Ree found opportunities
to visit the vicinity of the mysterious camp
in the gully. He saw no one, but he never remained
long, for the freshness of the ashes and
the altered position of the log in front of them
each time were assurance that the tenants were
not far away.

It was the lead mine which kept the camp
occupied, Kingdom now was certain. The hidden
treasure could not be far away. He had no
doubt of his ability to find it if but given the
chance to make unmolested search.

It was while on little hunting trips into the
woods to the north that the boy had visited the
strange camping place. Though he made it a
rule never to go a great distance from the cabin,
game was plentiful and he rarely, if ever,
returned empty-handed. The season for hunting
and trapping was now at its beginning.
Each taste of its pleasures made the young
pioneer long for the end of the trouble with
Lone-Elk and a return of the days of security
and care-free happiness which both he and John
had so much enjoyed in the past. The thought
that they would not return—not, at least, until
after many days and many dangers that he
little anticipated,—did not so much as come to
his confident, self-reliant brain.

Not since the “talk” with the Delawares had
Kingdom been near Captain Pipe’s village. He
seldom left the clearing to go even a little distance
in that direction, though often he wished
he might do so; often wished he could talk the
whole trouble over with Captain Pipe alone;
often wished Fishing Bird would come, even if
he brought no news. The friendly Delaware, he
felt certain, feared for his own safety every
time he visited the clearing. He must have
given up his watching of the Seneca, too. Perhaps
he had been warned to do so. Time would
tell.

Thinking of these things, thinking of John,
thinking of the work before him, Kingdom was
busily occupied one afternoon, tying choice ears
of corn together by the husks to hang them from
the roof poles, when rapid footsteps near the
open door caused him to spring hastily up.

“Hello, here! Howdy, little brothers!”
he exclaimed heartily, for before him stood
Little Wolf and Long-Hair, two Indian boys,
both of whom had shown for the young white
settlers a warm friendship.

With the true Indian showing of unmoved indifference,
the Delaware lads returned the
greeting and Kingdom at once led them into the
cabin and set before them the choicest bits of
meat and bread the larder afforded.

As the youthful braves ate, Ree inquired
kindly concerning Captain Pipe, Neohaw and
others of the Delawares, and presently asked
about Fishing Bird—desired to know if the
spirits prospered him and where he had been
so long that his Paleface friends had seen nothing
of him.

Ree did not recall the fact at the moment, but
he remembered a few seconds later that Long-Hair
was a brother of Fishing Bird,—a relationship
which soon explained the object of the
visit of the Indian lads.

“Fishing Bird—him Long-Hair and Little
Wolf come to tell White Fox about,” the former
said. “Fishing Bird was hunting. Long-Knives
caught him and Long-Knives going to
kill Fishing Bird dead.”

“Long-Hair! What are you saying? What
do you mean!” cried Kingdom with such solemn
but keen earnestness that the Delaware boy
was quite startled. “Who will harm Fishing
Bird?”

“Yep; just as Long-Hair says,” put in Little
Wolf. “Palefaces made Fishing Bird prisoner,
where Paleface army is at the River Ohio, and
going to kill him.”

“Tell me, brothers, how do you know this?
Were you sent to tell the White Fox?” asked
Ree, calling himself by the name the Indians
had long ago given him. “This is terrible
news you bring me! It cannot be!”

Both the little redskins slowly nodded their
heads in solemn confirmation of all they had
said.

“From Fort Pitt a runner came, telling Hopocon
how Fishing Bird a prisoner is—made a
prisoner by Captain Wayne’s warriors,” said
Long-Hair with the air of being a full-fledged
warrior himself. “Gentle Maiden said Long-Hair
must come fast and tell White Fox.”

“Little Wolf come too,” said the other youngster,
bound to be included.

“You both did just right. Gentle Maiden did
right also; for White Fox will not for a great
deal let harm come to Fishing Bird, if he can
help it,” Kingdom briskly replied. “White
Fox is going right away to ‘Captain’ Wayne’s
men. Little Brothers will go back and tell
Gentle Maiden this. Tell Gentle Maiden, and
any others who ask, that Fishing Bird shall be
set free if White Fox and Little Paleface can
possibly do it.”

Even as he spoke, Ree’s mind was made up.
In fifteen minutes he had saddled Phoebe,
turned Neb out to graze and was closing the
cabin preparatory to a rapid ride to Wayne’s
encampment. The Indian boys watched him
gallop across the clearing, his rifle hanging
before him from the saddle, his powder horn
and bullet pouch, both freshly refilled, slung
from his shoulder, his blanket and a hastily
collected supply of provisions taking the usual
place of saddle bags.

“White Fox is a mighty warrior,” said Little
Wolf admiringly.

“White Fox is too good to be a Paleface.
Fishing Bird says the same thing,” Long-Hair
made answer.

But Lone-Elk and a white man who was with
him, crouching in the bushes by the river,
watched the young horseman speed into the
woods with altogether different feelings.

Fishing Bird had been a prisoner in the
strong, log guard-house more than four days
at the time Kingdom dashed away to his rescue.
The friendly Delaware, together with three
others, had made the journey to the Ohio, drawn
thither by curiosity, and perhaps, too, with some
expectation of gaining intelligence of the increasing
strength of the white commander’s
forces.

Friendly Indians were coming and going in
the vicinity of Wayne’s “Legion” constantly,
and the Delawares undoubtedly counted upon
being classed among the neutral savages. But
“Mad Anthony” was not asleep. While he
waited to receive new recruits from the east,
and drill his men to a point of proper efficiency,
before making a start into hostile Indian
country, he was constantly informing himself
of the doings of the redskins in the interior—in
the northwest country, where, he knew, the inevitable
battle would eventually be.

Wayne’s staff of loyal scouts and trained
woodsmen were likewise alert. Every day they
gathered from one source or another some news
of the preparations all the northwest tribes
were making for a fight, which, they told one
another, would sicken the Palefaces more than
the defeat of St. Clair had done, and check the
advance of the settlers upon their forest lands
forever.

Unfortunately for Fishing Bird, it so happened
that, just at the time he and his friends
were spying about in the vicinity of the white
army, Gen. Wayne ordered that some Indian
from the interior be brought in and questioned.
Six men went out to find and capture such a
redskin.

They came upon the little party of Delawares,
encamped several miles from the river, just at
daybreak. All were sleeping, but they heard
the white men stealing upon them, and dashed
into the woods without firing a shot. Three
made their escape. One was caught and the unhappy
Fishing Bird was he.

Matters were made worse for the captive, too,
by the redskins who had eluded capture
returning and firing upon the white scouts. They intended,
no doubt, to assist Fishing Bird to get
away. But they caused him only so much the
more trouble; for his captors made him bear
the brunt of the wrath the hostile act excited in
their minds. The still further result was that
Fishing Bird, being mistreated, became ugly
and obstinate. He refused to talk. He would
tell the Palefaces nothing. Let them beat him,
abuse and torture him as they would, he bore
it all in sullen, defiant silence.

“Chuck him in the guard-house! Starve him!
Let him know that he’s got to talk or die! Hang
all the rascals, anyhow!” a captain had exclaimed,
and the unoffending Delaware was
hustled off in no very tender manner.

Gen. Wayne soon learned of what had taken
place and caused Fishing Bird to be brought to
his own cabin. He talked kindly to the Indian,
but the latter was still smarting physically from
the injuries, and smarting still more mentally
from the bitter injustice of the punishment he
had received, and remained obstinate.

“He evidently knows something. If he had
nothing to tell he would be talkative enough,”
“Mad Anthony” thought, and ordered Fishing
Bird taken back to the guard-house. “Let him
understand that he will not be harmed if he’ll
tell the truth,” he said, “but if he won’t talk—”

In a short time the peaceable redskins in the
vicinity learned what had been done with the
Delaware and so before a great while the information
reached the three warriors who had
been his companions. Immediately they carried
word to Captain Pipe. The latter was too
proud to call upon Return Kingdom to exert
himself in Fishing Bird’s behalf, after the manner
in which he had allowed the white boy to
be treated, but Gentle Maiden did not hesitate.
She sent Long-Hair and Little Wolf to the cabin
at once.

None of the Indians really knew, however, the
many reasons Kingdom had for showing his
friendship for Fishing Bird in the latter’s hour
of need. They may have known that the two
were more than usually friendly, but they did
not guess how the young white settlers had
often been assisted by the Delaware; nor did
anyone besides Ree and John and Fishing Bird
himself know of the terrible struggle in the
woods that night two years ago, when Kingdom
was so near to killing the young savage.

The circumstances of the capture and detention
of Fishing Bird were not, of course, known
to Kingdom until he reached Wayne’s camp.
Indeed, he puzzled his mind a great deal with
the subject, as he traveled rapidly along the old
trail to the east. Sometimes at a gallop, sometimes
at a walk, he kept to the course, but
wherever the path would permit of it, he let
Phoebe take her fastest gait and urged the
docile and only too willing mare on and on.

Ree camped at evening beneath some heavy,
overhanging bushes at the foot of a steep hill.
The night passed without incident and was followed
by a long, hard day in the saddle. Every
minute seemed most precious to the anxious boy
and every delay of any kind vexed and worried
him. He feared constantly that he would reach
his destination too late. The very thought that
he would arrive only to learn that the good,
loyal Fishing Bird had been put to death filled
him with anguish and alarm.

Hardly could Kingdom endure to spend
another night in camp. He wished to be pushing
forward. The delay of many hours was
more than irksome. But he could make little
progress in the darkness, he knew, and Phoebe
would be the better the next day for the rest.
Luckily the weather remained pleasant. Fortune
favored him in this respect, at least. The
second night of his journey, therefore, Ree
spent in a sheltered spot beside a little stream,
where a fine growth of grass afforded his horse
abundant feed.

Twice in the hour of darkness the lad heard
far off an Indian’s war-whoop. The sound
alarmed him a great deal; not for his own
safety so much as for the reason it gave him
for believing the trouble along the border was
far worse than he had supposed. And such, in
fact, was the case, as the youthful pioneer was
soon to learn.

For the time, however, the threatening, distant
cries served only to make the solitary traveler
somewhat uneasy in his lonely camp. But
with the coming of morning, he thought little
more of the matter, and it was not until he
reached Wayne’s outposts and found that John
Jerome had not arrived there that the night’s
disturbing sounds caused him any further
anxiety.

CHAPTER XIX—AN INTERVIEW WITH “MAD ANTHONY”
===========================================

The satisfaction and pleasure Kingdom felt
in finding that Fishing Bird, though a prisoner,
was still unharmed, was mixed with much distress
by the knowledge that nothing had been
seen of John Jerome at Wayne’s camp. True,
it might be that John had gone directly to Fort
Pitt; but even in doing so he would pass in the
immediate vicinity of the military encampment
and it would be strange if he did not stop.

Not the least light could any of the scouts or
others with whom Ree talked throw upon the
mystery of the missing boy. They agreed with
his friend that he should have arrived at the
Ohio several days ago, at least. Their views of
the whole matter were most discouraging.
Kingdom did not realize, they insisted, that the
woods were full of hostile Indian bands; that
all up and down the Ohio and for many miles
in all directions, there was burning, pillaging
and murder almost every day, and no man was
safe when alone.

Neither did Kingdom receive the least encouragement
when he suggested that a rescue party
be formed to search for his missing chum. Gen.
Wayne would not think of it, the men said. It
was no unusual thing for a man to be taken
prisoner, no unusual thing for a lone hunter to
be scalped. If the army were to undertake the
rescue of every captive, or the punishment of
every party of Indian marauders, there would
be time for nothing else.

“Still, I must see Gen. Wayne himself,”
Kingdom insisted. “Even if I can do nothing
else for John Jerome, perhaps I can obtain freedom
for Fishing Bird, and he and I can do something.”

Still the party of petty officers, scouts, and
soldiers with whom Kingdom talked shook their
heads, and it was only after considerable urging
that one of the men said he would try to arrange
matters for Ree to see the commander.

Kingdom had reached the encampment of
Wayne’s “Legion” at about mid-day. It was
late in the afternoon when his new-found friend,
a sergeant named Quayle, consented to see if
Ree could not have a talk with Gen. Wayne himself.
The delay seemed past all understanding
to Kingdom, little acquainted with army customs
and discipline. And when the sergeant
returned, bringing a superior officer with him,
who, after talking with the anxious lad, told
him that the general would see him in the morning,
Kingdom’s patience was sorely tried indeed.
He did, however, obtain an assurance
from the officer that Fishing Bird would be well
treated and injured no further until he could
present his petition for the Indian’s release,
and with this he endeavored to be content.

Unwilling to tell his whole story to anyone
but “Mad Anthony” himself, Kingdom was
unable to give the men with whom he mingled
a great deal of information. They plied him
with countless questions concerning the movements
and general attitude of the Indians of the
interior, and his experiences with them, but the
heart-sick boy felt little disposed to talk and
gave them no more than civil answers. In vain
he tried to get permission to visit Fishing Bird
in the guard-house. Serg. Quayle told him it
would be of no use, but not until one higher
in authority had kindly but very definitely
refused did Ree give up.

Every hope Kingdom ventured to entertain
now centered in Gen. Wayne, and time and
again he went over in his mind all that he meant
to say to the commander when the time came.

He saw to it that Phoebe was given a place
among the horses in the camp and properly fed
and cared for, then accepted an invitation extended
by his friend, the sergeant, to have supper
and spend the night with him.

Had his thoughts been less occupied with the
strange disappearance of John, and with his
anxiety concerning the outcome of his interview
with Gen. Wayne, Ree would have spent a jolly
evening among the care-free spirits,—woodsmen,
adventurers, regular soldiers and raw
recruits who made up the bulk of the “Legion.”

There was romance in the life of nearly every
man about him. There were stories untold, but
to some extent readable, in the faces and figures
and ways of all the scouts, the hardened Indian
fighters, and the seasoned soldiers. There was
much of interest, too, among the great variety
of fellows who were plainly not long from the
east. Some were outcasts and downright criminals
undoubtedly; some were sons of highly
respected fathers, banished from home, perhaps,
or here only in search of adventure and
excitement. Their stories, their songs, their
speech and their dress all told of the strangely
different walks of life from which they had
come; and gathered together here on the border
of the great wilderness, while the campfires
brightly burned, they made a truly romantic
picture.

It was a picture which would live in history,
too, as time in due course told; for in the end
it proved that no more efficient force ever invaded
hostile Indian territory than Wayne led
to final victory over the savages who had vowed
to make the Ohio river the boundary between
themselves and civilization for all time.

The-men with whom Ree came in contact
were, in their rough way, very kind to the
young man from the depths of the woods. They
urged him to join them and go down the Ohio
and thence march into the woods with them, and
they assured him that he would never find a
better chief than “Old Mad Anthony.” To all
these proposals Kingdom answered that he
could think of nothing of the kind until John
Jerome was found, living or dead, for which
sentiment Sergeant Quayle heartily commended
him.

For the most part the men of Wayne’s command
slept in the open air, but Sergeant Quayle
and his intimate associates had erected a shelter
of bark laid up against a pole placed across two
forked sticks. Although one side of this crude
structure was entirely open to the weather, the
campfire made the fact scarcely unpleasant, and
Kingdom found the soldiers’ quarters quite
comfortable. The lad was astir by the time
the first early risers of the army were moving
about, however, and impatiently waited the coming
of the aide who was to lake him to Gen.
Wayne’s quarters.

At last came the lieutenant whom Ree had
seen the day before. With scarcely a word he
signaled with a nod to the lad to accompany
him, and silently conducted the young frontiersman
to a substantial log house. With a word to
a sentry near, the officer opened the door and
motioned to Kingdom to enter.

“Mad Anthony” sat at breakfast alone. He
looked up with sharp but not unkind scrutiny
of his visitor as, cap in hand, the boy softly
closed the door and stood awaiting his notice.

“Sit down there and tell me your story,” said
the commander rather brusquely, indicating a
three-legged stool near his table. Although he
spoke in a quick, decisive way his voice was the
kind which inspires confidence and the young
visitor, though somewhat nervous, at no time
was disconcerted by the business-like manner of
the great soldier.

“Gladly, sir,” said Kingdom, seating himself,
but for a moment hesitating just where to begin.

“Well, well, proceed then!” the general urged
with a smile, and without further loss of time
the boy told briefly who he was and what had
brought him to the soldiers’ camp. He mentioned
John Jerome’s connection with his story
and John’s disappearance, alluding only briefly,
for the time, to the murder at the salt springs,
and to the charge of witchcraft that had been
the beginning of the trouble. Of the lead mine
he did not speak.

“I see no reason why we cannot give this
Indian you are interested in his liberty,” said
the general, when Ree had concluded. “But I
am much afraid we can do nothing for your
friend. Very likely he will turn up safe and
sound before long. I am bound to say, though,
that my advice to you would be that you do not
go back to your cabin until these troublous times
are over. How would you like to come with my
men—be one of my scouts and interpreters?
Come, now?”

Poor Ree, sadly disheartened, could only reply
that if circumstances were different he
would very much like to do so; but as it was,
well, he simply couldn’t do anything until
John Jerome was found. Then he told more
fully of the trouble with Lone-Elk and how it
had happened to result in the discovery of the
two murdered men at the big “lick.”

Made more confident by Gen. Wayne’s interest,
he told of the strange camp in the gully and
his reason for believing that the salt springs
murderer or murderers were there.

“You may be right,” said the commander,
“and you may be wrong. That two men,—apparently
men not fully accustomed to the
woods,—should have been killed and their
bodies concealed in the brush, is, in these times,
not surprising. And the fact being that these
men are to us unknown, while it does not make
the murder less distressing or less a crime, does
present a reason for our not being duty bound
to unravel the mystery and attempt to punish
the perpetrators of the deed. In short, if we
begin to follow up singly each red-handed outrage
committed along the border, we shall
not have men for anything else. We can only
bide our time and strike the savages collectively—strike
a blow that will bring both them and
their British supporters to their senses—a blow
with something of suddenness about it.”

Kingdom’s hopes had dwindled to nothing.
He wanted help, help to find John Jerome, help
to carry out his plan to capture the salt springs
criminals, and while he was about it, help to
show Lone-Elk that he had powerful friends at
his back who might make very costly to the
Seneca any injury which was done the two
young settlers on the land for which the Delawares
had received a fair price.

Of course Gen. Wayne saw the whole trend of
Kingdom’s thoughts. There is a power possessed,
as a rule, by great generals in every
walk of life, by which they see at a glance the
workings of the minds of the less mature or
less able men about them. Kingdom, however,
was bright enough to understand all this perfectly,
even while “Mad Anthony” talked with
him. He felt that an injustice was done him.
He knew that his motives were not by any
means as selfish as they seemed. But how could
he make himself better understood? He hesitated
to try, and in his extremity, he played his
last card—the lead mine.

Who can blame Return Kingdom if, when he
told Gen. Wayne of the Seneca’s secret, he went
just a little beyond actual facts in his representation
of the certainty of the mine’s existence!
That he had never seen the mine, he
was forced, as the commander questioned him,
to admit. Yes, it was true, he acknowledged,
that he had never heard of the lead mine before
Lone-Elk came among the Delawares. Neither
had he seen any lead from the mine, nor could
he tell positively of any Indian who had seen
any. The story Fishing Bird had told was the
whole basis of his assertion that there was a
lead mine somewhere along the Cuyahoga, and
presumably it was not far from the mysterious
camp in the ravine.

“Now have I all the information you can give
me on this subject?” asked Gen. Wayne, with
something of a twinkle in his eye.

“Yes, sir,” Kingdom answered, the twinkle
somehow making him feel more comfortable
than he did before.

“All right, then,” and the general stepped to
the door. “Have that Indian, Fishing Bird,
brought to headquarters,” he said to the man
outside.

“Mad Anthony” paced thoughtfully up and
down the earthen floor of the single room of
the cabin while he waited. Wondering, and
more hopeful now, Kingdom tried to determine
what the commander meant to do by glancing
often at his knitted brow.

In five minutes the Delaware, with a sullen
air of pride, stepped into the cabin. In an instant,
however, his manner changed. A look of
pleasure came to his eyes and he held out his
hand to Kingdom.

The greeting between the young woodsman
and the Indian was pleasant to see. As soon
as they had silently shaken hands, however,
Gen. Wayne said:

“Now, Fishing Bird, what can you tell me of
a lead mine near your Cuyahoga river!”

“The lead mine is the secret of Lone-Elk—Lone-Elk,
the Seneca,” the Delaware made answer.

“Well, if I give you your liberty, will you go
with this young man, your friend here, and some
men I shall send with you, and see if you can
find this mine? And will you help my young
friend, whom you seem to know rather better
than I do, find the boy who is accused of witchcraft?”

“Anything White Fox asks will Fishing Bird
do,” the Indian replied, with quiet dignity.

CHAPTER XX—DELIVERED TO THE DELAWARES
=====================================

The effort it cost John Jerome to conceal his
astonishment and his chagrin as he encountered
the savages hurrying toward the scene of the
explosion, from which he was hastening away,
would be hard to describe. But he controlled
himself sufficiently to say:

“Hello, here, brothers! Don’t go up there
or you may get blown sky high! My powder
pouch fell into the’ fire, and it tore things up to
beat the Dutch.”

With this greeting and hastily given explanation
of his being found running away, the boy
was starting on, thinking to be gone before the
Indians had recovered from their own surprise;
but in this he was disappointed. One fellow
seized his hand, as if merely to shake it in
friendly salutation, but continued to hold it and
would not let him take it away. Quickly the
other savages gathered near and, though but a
few seconds had passed, John saw that he was
a prisoner and that his escape was intentionally
cut completely off.

The situation seemed to give the Indians vastly
more pleasure than it gave Jerome. Their
amusement and delight made itself manifest in
curious ways. One, with a great show of interest,
took the boy’s rifle from him and pretended
to examine it as though it were some very rare
specimen. Another did likewise with his pistols,
while a third bore off his powder horn. Still
others playfully rapped their victim’s shins
and head with their gun barrels, driving him at
last to such desperation that when one particularly
playful fellow pricked him suddenly from
behind with a knife-point, he wheeled and with
clenched fist sent the redskin sprawling among
the leaves.

The savage retaliated with the butt of his
rifle, but now the party started on, two of them
leading John between them, and for the time
the annoyances ceased. The Indians went at
once to the spot where the explosion had occurred,
plainly marked in the gathering gloom
by the remnants of the campfire. They inspected
the locality with considerable interest.
There was little to see, however, and in a short
time they were under way again. Their course,
John was sorry to see, was in the direction of
the Delaware village on the lake.

Not until darkness made it quite impossible
to go further did the savages pause. They
chose as a camping place a slight depression in
the ground, among some maples. The wind had
gathered a deep drift of autumn leaves here,
and as the captive lay down between two of the
captors, he found his bed not otherwise uncomfortable.
A long piece of untanned buckskin
had been tied about his waist, however, and as
its loose ends were tied to the waists of the
Indians beside him, he realized that escape
would be all but impossible.

John had had abundant opportunity to study
the Indians while on the march, but the fading
light had made it impossible to see them
distinctly. There were seven in the party, all
young, active fellows, and all strangers. They
were Shawnees, John decided. Where they had
been, and whither they were going he could not
guess. He did know that it would be pleasanter
lying between the two redskins who guarded
him, if they would but give him more room, and
he knew that the paint bedecking the band was
no sign of good. Not wholly hopeless, however,
he fell asleep at last, wondering what Ree was
doing.

With daylight’s coming the Indians kindled a
fire and broiled some venison. They allowed
their prisoner to eat all he wished, nor for the
present was he tortured further with such antics
as had been indulged in the night before. No
haste was made to break camp and be on the
move again by the band, but to the contrary,
they were very deliberate in all they did. During
the morning they held a council and, though
they spoke in guarded tones, John knew that he
was the subject of their talk.

The captive was glad to believe that none of
the Indians knew him. They would be for taking
him directly to the Delaware town, to place
him at, the mercy of Lone-Elk, if they were
aware of the charge against him, he was certain.
If the savages asked him anything, he
would in self-defense be bound to deceive them.
Thinking of this made John think of deceiving
the band still further. He would cause the savages
to believe that he was from Detroit, a
British spy sent to ascertain the extent of
Wayne’s forces, and, of course, friendly to the
Indians.

The boy’s opportunity to put his plan into
practice came rather sooner than he expected.
Within a few minutes one of the redskins who
had their heads together in conference, came to
him and asked in very fair English who he was
and what he was doing in the woods so far from
the settlements.

“It’s about time you were finding out, I
think,” John answered, with a show of injured
innocence. “At Detroit we are taught to believe
that the English and the Indians are
brothers. We both hate the Americans, who
are robbing all the tribes of the Northwest just
as they robbed the Eastern tribes long ago, yet
when my chief sends me to find out what moves
the Americans are making to march into the
forests of the Indians, lo! a party of my red
brothers seize me and treat me as a prisoner!”

The savage to whom John addressed his
words of well-feigned righteous wrath looked
puzzled, then a grin spread itself slowly over
his lips. He summoned the other Indians and
told them, in substance, what the captive said.
Then in a tongue John did not understand he
added a few words which made them all smile.

Very much afraid that in some way he had
gotten himself into a predicament, with his
hastily concocted story, the lad felt at heart
that he might have fared as well if he had told
the truth; but having made a start upon a different
road he was unwilling to turn back.

Even when one of the redskins began to question
him as to when he had left Detroit, and with
whom and by what route he had traveled, he
maintained his air of offended friendship, and
answered as best he could. Asked the name of
the person in command at Detroit at the time
he left, he promptly answered, “Col. John Jenkins,
and you ought to know it, if you know anything
about Detroit at all.”

John used the first name which came to him in
replying to this question, and he answered many
others just as rashly. From appearing puzzled
the savages now seemed mightily amused. The
prisoner noted the fact with chagrin, but stuck
resolutely to his original story. The climax
came, however, when he was asked if there had
been much snow at Detroit when he left.

“Why, no; not much to speak of,” he promptly
answered.

The Indians looked at one another and
grinned. Then one of them turned to him.

“Paleface heap big liar,” he said.

“Why? Why am I? Because I said that
there wasn’t much snow? Well there wasn’t!
Of course there was lots of snow, but it wasn’t
any seven or eight feet deep!”

“One heap big fool liar,” the redskin reiterated.

The Indians seemed to have satisfied themselves
completely as to the truthfulness of the
prisoner. They gave his words no further attention,
and how bitterly crestfallen, and in his
heart ashamed and disgraced, he felt, no one
knew so well as he, as they turned away to resume
their conference.

John realized that he had probably made bad
matters worse. Seeing how anxious he was to
deceive them, the redskins would be more than
ordinarily distrustful of him and perhaps conclude
that he was one who, for some reason, was
particularly hostile to them. They asked him
no more questions now, but appeared to guard
him even more closely than before.

John thought so, at least, for his mind was
turning with increased attentiveness to the possibility
of escape. Not the slightest prospect
that a favorable opportunity would come to him
did he see, however, and when the Indians resumed
their journey a little later, he was put
between the two most villainous looking fellows
in the band.

The course the savages took, in starting off
this time, was slightly different from that pursued
the night before. As nearly as John could
reckon it would, if continued, land them, at the
end of two or three days, at the “Crossing
Place of the Muskingum,” the point at which
the Great Trail from Pittsburg to Detroit
crossed the Muskingum river. Where this particular
party of savages did eventually find
themselves, though, John Jerome never knew,
nor did he ever learn definitely that they had
come from Detroit, as he suspected.

The reason for this presented itself the second
day after the cross-questioning of the prisoner
and the wretched failure of his effort to deceive.
The Indians encamped at noon, after a leisurely
journey through a fine forest country, beside a
little spring bubbling from under the very trunk
of a mammoth oak. They lingered here several
hours and while they waited a party of five
bucks from Captain Pipe’s town chanced suddenly
upon them.

John recognized the fellows immediately.
He knew, too, that they recognized him, though
they did not at once pay any attention to him.
It was not until after quite extensive greetings
between them and the seven warriors in the
Shawnee party, in fact, that they bestowed even
a look upon the prisoner. Then they turned
toward him with grins of malicious pleasure.

Having learned that their prisoner was none
other than the “witch,” of whom they had
heard as having been the cause of the death of
that well known warrior, Big Buffalo, the Shawnees
plainly regarded him now as a dangerous
individual. A little later he was the subject of
a long conversation between the young Delawares
and his captors and the wretched boy
quickly discovered that his worst fears were
realized. For the five from Pipe’s town were
anxious to have him taken to their village, and
the Shawnees appeared not to object.

At some length the Delawares told of the
certain evidence Lone-Elk had discovered—the
hatchet found in the corn—the very hatchet with
which Big Buffalo was killed, and of the long
and fruitless search that had been made for the
“witch.” They urged the Shawnees to come
and see the Paleface burned, and the killing of
one of the greatest warriors of the Delawares
avenged.

In turn the band into whose merciless hands
poor John had fallen told of the exciting times
along the border, of burning and killing both
by night and by day. They told, too, of much
powder and much lead which the Indians could
obtain at Detroit, and two of them exhibited
brand new rifles. While they were anxious to
see the “witch” destroyed, they said, they did
not wish to go to Pipe’s town as they were on
their way to a fruitful source of plunder.

As John heard and understood a considerable
part of the conversation, a determination to
escape or die in the attempt rapidly grew within
him. And when he heard an agreement
reached that he should be turned over to the
Delawares, while the Shawnees continued on
their way, he set his mind intently upon the
problem of getting away, or making an effort
at least, let the cost be what it might.

The Shawnees turned John over to the Delawares,
after binding him securely, with many
a kick and cuff. They particularly denounced
him as a “forked-tongued witch,” and worked
themselves into such passions of hatred that the
prisoner was in imminent danger of being killed
then and there.

With his hands tied behind him, and led and
dragged by a long rope of rawhide about his
neck, the captive was taken in charge by the
Delawares, and the two Indian bands set off in
different directions. The mission of the Shawnees,
as has been stated, John never learned;
but he well knew the destination of the five
young Delawares, and a lump of pain and bitterness
grew big in his throat as he thought of
the cowardice and wretched injustice of it all.

CHAPTER XXI—THE BURNING OF THE CABIN
====================================

Indian troubles along the border were perhaps
never worse in the history of the Northwest
territory than in this year (1792) when Return
Kingdom and John Jerome daily lived surrounded
by dangers, the true, awful extent of
which they little realized.

The scalping knife was never sharper, seldom
bloodier. The torch was put to cabin after
cabin. At mid-day and at midnight the flames
which consumed the scattered evidences of civilization
west of the Ohio river leaped skyward.
The fierce war-whoop rang defiantly from Detroit
south to the settlements in Kentucky and
no white man was safe. Harmless traders, and
peaceable hunters as well as settlers were murdered
and their scalps hung high on the lodges
of the Delawares, Shawnees, Chippewas,
Wyandots, and all the tribes between the Wabash
river and the Allegheny mountains.

And all the while the British at Detroit were
urging the Indians on, and all the while the
authorities of the American government were
urging moderation on Wayne’s part and trying
hopelessly to bring about peace.

Some peace commissioners who were sent to
treat with the Indians were at first received
kindly, but without warning, a few days later,
slain.

News traveled far less rapidly in those days
than now. A family might at midnight hear
the redskins’ dreadful yells and die fleeing from
the fierce savages, even while flames devoured
their home. But neighbors only a few miles
distant would continue to dwell in supposed
security, knowing nothing of the outrage, and
so only the more readily fall victims of the same
ferocious Indian band a little later.

Indeed, it is not remarkable that Return and
John had felt little fear among the Indians,
while living so far from the frontier that news
of the terrible tragedies along the border did
not reach them. Their entire plan for the future
had been from the first to make the redskins
their friends. They had, with some rather
serious exceptions, in which they were not at
fault, succeeded admirably until Lone-Elk incited
Captain Pipe’s people to hostility. But
now, even had both the boys been at their cabin,
and seemingly at peace with every tribe, as they
had once been, they could not have failed to discover
evidence of the warlike activity about
them. They would not only have seen but, very
likely, have felt, the increasing hostility of every
redman the vast wilds contained.

No longer did the head men, such as Chief
Hopocon or Captain Pipe, seek to restrain the
bloodthirsty young warriors. They were allowed
full sway. Treaties still fresh in their
minds, such as that fixing the Cuyahoga and the
portage trail as a definite boundary between the
white men and their red brethren, were forgotten
or no more regarded than the leaves
which drifted before the autumn winds.

The arrival of John Jerome; bound hand and
foot, at the Delaware town on the lake was the
signal for an outburst of ferocious savage hilarity,
by no means comforting to that young
gentleman.

Twice had John attempted to escape from the
five young bucks—Indians scarcely older than
himself—and each time had he failed. First he
had tried to buy his liberty and exerted every
effort to prevail upon the youthful braves to
give him his freedom, to give him at least a
chance for it, a start of three yards, then the
use of his hands and feet and no start at all.
His endeavors and his pleading were all fruitless.

Determined to escape, then, John made a bold-dash
while the little party was on the march;
but the strap which held him was strong, and
he was stopped in a moment. His second attempt
to get away was scarcely more successful.
The Indians had paused to rest and refresh
themselves beside a little lake which lay but a
few miles from the Delaware town. One of the
fellows, the one who held the long strip of rawhide
tied to the captive’s neck, lay down on the
beach to drink. For a moment he released his
hold on the strap and instantly John took advantage
of it. But he ran only a few rods before
two of the braves caught him, and the punishment
they and the others administered was
severe. Then it was that the prisoner’s feet
as well as his hands were bound and so was he
dragged into the village at last.

In vain did John look about for Fishing Bird,
for Gentle Maiden or some of the other Delawares
who had been especially friendly in the
past. Fishing Bird, of course, was not there,
and Gentle Maiden remained out of sight. That
she felt sympathy for the prisoner, however, is
certain. She saw to it that proper food was carried
to him, and exerted all her influence to prevent
harm from coming to him. Especially did
she urge that the sentence of death for witchcraft
should not be executed until the return of
Captain Pipe, who was gone to the Delaware
town on the Muskingum.

As Lone-Elk, also, was away, and as he had
a strong personal interest in the infliction of the
punishment the Little Paleface must suffer,
no more was done to end the captive’s life at
once. But one by one the Delawares informed
John of what he must expect. Some told him
his fate would be death at the stake. Others
said that Lone-Elk would end everything with
one mighty blow with the same hatchet that
had caused Big Buffalo’s death.

Even these gloomy assurances, however, did
not alarm poor John so much as the wild hostility
he saw everywhere about him—nearly all
the Indians in war paint, their war-whoops ringing
out at every hour of the day and night, as
they contemplated the extinction of both the
settlers and later the whole Paleface army,
gathering as they knew, to march against them.
Much of the threatening demonstration was due
to the keen zest of the younger savages. In the
absence of their chief they were under no restraint
and the ferocious delight with which they
scented from afar the expected fighting was but
a part of their nature.

Day after day slipped by and Captain Pipe
did not return. Confined in a rude hut, without
fire and without comforts of any kind, excepting
sufficient food, such as it was, John
Jerome suffered both in body and in spirit.
But he was to suffer more later. Indeed, each
day brought its additional burdens of grief and
pain.

Constantly watched as he was, the sorrowful
boy found not one reason to believe that a
chance to escape might come to him, and now
was anxiety for his own safety more than
doubled by the conviction forced upon him that
Return Kingdom was gone forever—murdered,
tortured, shot from ambush. He knew not how
his life had been taken, but the certain evidence
that Ree was dead was presented to him in the
course of a night of savage barbarity the like
of which few white men ever had equal opportunities
of seeing.

It was late in the afternoon of an ideal
Indian summer day that Lone-Elk returned to the
Delaware town. He brought bullets and this
time powder also. Only a shrug of his bare
shoulders marked his interest in the news when
told that the “witch” was captured; that Little
Paleface was even at the moment safely
held captive beyond all possibility of escape.

He did not so much as go to see and gloat
over the unhappy prisoner; but a murderous
gleam came in his eyes and he told Neohaw and
several others that the stake and the fire would
be the “witch’s” portion when Captain Pipe
came. He would not execute the death sentence
before the chief’s return, for then they would
have a celebration which would be a lesson to
all the Palefaces for many days to come, just
as the burning of the “White Chief,” Crawford,
had been.

Nevertheless Lone-Elk quickly laid his plans
to torture and torment the young captive, and
to instill in the minds of all the Delawares a
hatred of every Paleface, and a belief in the
certain ease with which their country might be
rid of them. He arranged a war dance. Every
warrior, every buck and brave in the village
answered his summons. Gentle Maiden guessed
at once the meaning of it all, as in the early
twilight the fighting men of her father’s people
began to gather. It was useless for her to remonstrate,
and as the fierce, sharp cries that
accompanied the horrid dance swelled in volume
and in number, John himself was scarcely more
apprehensive of the outcome than was she.

Bound and round the campfire the savages
danced. Their contortions of face and body,
their violent shrieks and awful fervor were terrible
to look upon. Fiercest of all was Lone-Elk.
Louder than all the others was the war-whoop
of the Seneca, and at midnight he had
wrought to the highest pitch of bloodthirsty
ardor every Delaware participating in the horrible
revelry.

“Come!” called the outcast loudly at last,
“Come! Will the Delawares close their eyes in
sleep when so near them is a house of the Palefaces?
A house that will draw others to it till
the forests of the Indians are all cut down and
they themselves driven away and killed? Come!
Who will come with Lone-Elk!”

A fierce chorus of war cries greeted his words.
Drunk with excitement, the Delawares paused
not to consider. With terrible yells they surged
after the Seneca and like a shrieking band of
fiends hurried rapidly through the moonlit
forest.

“Hold! Let the Delawares bring the Paleface
witch!” cried Lone-Elk. “Let the murderer
of the brave Big Buffalo see the nest
where birds of his kind are hatched go up in
fire!”

No sooner said than done. A dozen of the
fiercest of the band, mad with the passions that
had been aroused within them, rushed back and
in five minutes came dragging John Jerome
after them. By a rope around his body, and by
another about his neck, they both drove and
pulled him. Their awful yells could have been
heard for miles.

Following the portage trail to its end and
crossing the river, the savages broke into the
clearing about the cabin a little further on at
a run. Up the hill they went and with whooping
and yelling of impassioned fury they attacked
the cabin, so humble, so quiet and so
home-like and unoffending in its appearance
that its destruction seemed the foulest crime in
all of border warfare’s awful annals.

With tomahawks the door was beaten in,
though but to have pulled the string would have
raised the latch, and the mad race of pillage
and plunder began. Everything breakable was
thrown down and destroyed. Table, stools, bedding
and all the little conveniences that Ree and
John had been at such pains to plan and construct
were thrown indiscriminately about.

“Let the witch burn his own foul nest,” the
Seneca yelled in his native tongue, but the captive,
trembling with anger and sickened by the
awful scenes he was compelled to witness, understood
and drew back. In vain two Delawares
who held him sought to force him to take and
apply the torch that a third held out. They
burned his bare hands, set fire to his clothing
and his hair, but to no purpose. He could not
fight, but he could resist if it killed him, and
resist John did, let the consequences be what
they might.

“Ugh! Ugh!” loudly ejaculated one of the
older Indians impatiently, at last, and grabbing
the burning hickory bark from the one who
tried vainly to make the prisoner take it, he carried
it quickly into the lean-to stable.

In an instant the dry hay and fodder were in
flames. In another minute the fire had reached
the cabin. Soon the terrible glare filled all the
clearing and while the home the boy pioneers
had held so dear, and all the things within it
which long association made them fondly cherish,
turned black, then red and yielded at last
to the crackling, roaring destroyer, the Indians
danced about in savage celebration, brandishing
tomahawks and scalping knives, yelling and
shrieking like the untamed demons that they
were.

CHAPTER XXII—THE MAN IN THE RAVINE
==================================

Very little time indeed was required for Return
Kingdom to make clear to Fishing Bird
the work he wished to do. The Delaware was
decidedly surprised to learn that a white man,
or men, of whom he knew nothing, were encamped
near the Cuyahoga and he also exhibited
the liveliest interest in the information
Ree gave him concerning the two men murdered
at the salt springs.

The probability that John Jerome had been
captured, however, interested the Indian more
than all else, though it distressed him, too.
Repeatedly he shook his head with an air of
utmost gravity and regret.

Gen. Wayne was a man who did things. Once
his plans were formed, their execution went
ahead without a moment’s unnecessary delay,
and in a very short space of time he had caused
men to be detailed to accompany Kingdom and
his loyal friend.

The boy’s request that Sergeant Quayle be
sent with him was promptly granted and that
good-natured son of Erin with three others, all
experienced woodsmen, gladly undertook the
duty assigned them. They agreed with Kingdom,
too, that a large force of men would not
be needed, and that by care a small party would
be able to accomplish more than a greater number.
They would be far less likely to attract
attention or invite an attack from ambush.

Late in the afternoon the well-armed band
set out. By common consent Kingdom was
given general command, though he took counsel
always with the others. Only one circumstance
marred his perfect confidence in the expedition.
This was the distrustful manner in which two
of the woodsmen constantly regarded Fishing
Bird. They were Indian haters and Indian
fighters. They could “see no good in ’ary a
single red mother’s son of ’em,” as one of them
expressed it, “and didn’t care who knowed it.”

The Sergeant, however, was more charitably
inclined. Being of buoyant spirits, too, when
somewhat relieved of the camp’s restraints, he
kept everyone in a good humor with his droll
remarks.

Even over the badly decomposed bodies of
the two unfortunate men, killed at the “big
lick,” his manner was the same.

“Sure, they’d ha’ be’an far better presarved
if put in the brine! An’ so much o’ it, handy
like, ’tis a shame, it is!” said he.

But notwithstanding, Quayle, as well as all
the others, was much affected by the awful sight
the removal of the brush heap disclosed. Ree
knew from John’s description just where to
look for the bodies of the murdered men, and
he hoped to find something that his friend
might have overlooked, which would reveal the
men’s identities. Sergeant Quayle and the
woodsmen had also been anxious to see if they
could not tell who the unfortunates were, and
it was for these reasons that the springs were
visited, though they lay somewhat away from
the direct trail.

Nothing did the little party find to shed any
light on the mysterious murder. The older
woodsmen declared that both the dead men
must have come from some distant point. If
either had belonged anywhere in the vicinity of
the Ohio river, they would have seen them at
some time, they were sure. Sergeant Quayle
was of the opinion, from the dress and general
appearance of the murdered pair, that they had
come from some of the British posts in the
Northwest, probably Detroit. Yet he expressed
the belief that Indians had committed the murder,
and only when Kingdom reminded him of
the evidence afforded by the pair of gloves that
had been found, did he say:

“Leastwise, we’ll agree to this, lad; savages
done it. White men or red men, they was blackhearted
savages that done such a dirty deed!”

The party spent a night in the vicinity of the
salt springs. Though regretting the least delay,
and anxious always to be pushing on, Kingdom
was greatly interested in the evidences of civilization
having at one time had a foothold at the
“lick,” as John had been. He was fortunate
in learning more about the matter than Jerome
had learned, however, for one of the woodsmen—a
great, broad-shouldered young fellow,
whose name, oddly enough, was Small,—knew
much about the springs.

In camp at night he told the others how, several
years earlier, Gen. Samuel H. Parsons had
come from Connecticut and attempted to establish
a salt factory at the place. He undertook
to purchase twenty-five thousand acres of land,
embracing the springs and the territory about
them, and expected to reap a great fortune. He
was greatly disappointed in the quantity of salt
the water contained, but might have carried out
his plan, anyway, had it not been that, in returning
from the springs to the east, he was
drowned by the upsetting of his canoe at the
Beaver falls. The purchase of the great tract
he had intended buying, was, therefore, never
completed.

“But as a rule, lad, ye’ll note as ye go
through life,” said the Sergeant to Ree—he
nearly always addressed his words to Kingdom
“as a rule, ye’ll note that parsons are more
partial to poultry than to salt. Still, ye’ll do
well to tie to the parsons, Lord bless ’em! It’s
a preacher I’d ha’ be’an me ownsilf but fur——”

The Sergeant left his exclamation unfinished
and with a sigh, which was also a chuckle, lay
down and drew his blanket close about him.

Kingdom planned to lead his party directly
to the cabin on the Cuyahoga. He was hoping
he would find John Jerome in that neighborhood
or in hiding at the old poplar, even while
he told himself how little ground he had for
such a thought.

Men coming to Wayne’s camp from Fort
Pitt had brought word that John had not been
there, and where to look for him, excepting
near the cabin, or among the Delawares, Ree did
not know. He was depending on Fishing Bird to
obtain information for him, however, and repeatedly,
on the journey west, the Indian would
go a long distance from the others of the party
to find, if possible, some wandering redskins
who might be able to give him news of the capture
of the lad they sought.

Although at no time was the Delaware in any
way successful, he never failed to rejoin Ree
and his white friends at night. In every way,
both then and later, he proved himself thoroughly
trustworthy and loyal, despite the daily
predictions of Jim Small that he would turn
up missing when he was most wanted, and
be found hostile when his friendship was most
desired.

The march through the forest wilds was interrupted
by no incident of importance. Ree had
left his horse at Wayne’s encampment, as he
had no wish to ride while others walked, and,
under the circumstances, the mare would be a
hindrance. Rapid progress was made by the
“expedition,” as Sergeant Quayle always
called the little band of six, however, and the
increasing severity of the weather was almost
the only hardship of the undertaking.

At the middle of an afternoon much pleasanter
than the raw, cold days which had preceded
it, the expedition reached a point only a
few miles from the clearing and the river. A
council of war was held and it was decided that
Ree and Fishing Bird should go forward to
look for John at the cabin, while Sergeant
Quayle and the others turned off to the north to
await their report at a certain rocky ledge of
which both Kingdom and the woodsmen knew.

The chief reason for this action was the
secrecy which must be observed to prevent
knowledge of the presence of so large a party
reaching the mysterious camp in the gully. The
camp itself would be inspected under cover of
darkness and a decision could then be reached
concerning the best time and manner of surprising
the murderers, and effecting their capture.
If it were found that the camp seemed
permanently occupied, and the occupants intending
to stay indefinitely, they would be allowed
to rest in supposed security while John Jerome
was being located.

Ree had seen from the first that the men who
accompanied him were more keenly interested
in the lead mine than anything else. He would
rather have made the finding of John Jerome
the first object to be achieved, but he gave way
to the wishes of the Sergeant in this instance,
and now he and Fishing Bird hastened on to the
cabin.

Cautiously Kingdom and the Delaware approached
the clearing. The sun shone lazily,
the air, though cool, was soft and still. Peace
seemed everywhere. It was hard to believe the
reverse was true. And then came the shock.

From the edge of the woods Ree saw the
awful work Lone-Elk and his warriors had
done. Not a muscle of his face moved. Though
even Fishing Bird sorrowfully shook his head
and put his arm before his eyes to shut out the
most unhappy scene, the boy remained cool and
collected. No sign of the tempest of grief and
boiling anger that raged within him was visible
on the surface. With surprise the Delaware
observed his calm demeanor and heard him say:

“Whose work this is, Fishing Bird, we don’t
know. Just what has been done, though, we can
plainly see. I am afraid it means something
worse. So what I want you to do, good Fishing
Bird, is to hurry to the Delaware town. Hurry
to the village and learn anything and all you
can about what has happened to Little Paleface.
Whether the Delawares know much, or
nothing, come to me at the rocks where I am to
meet my friends, tomorrow morning. Come
early, Fishing Bird, and bring good news if you
can. Bring bad news if you must. But most of
all don’t fail me.”

“Every word Fishing Bird understands,” the
Indian answered, and in another minute was
gone.

For a very short time Ree lingered at the
clearing’s edge. Tears came to his eyes, now
that he was alone, when he looked at the fire-stained
chimney rising like a spectre above the
ruin of ashes around it,—the only thing left of
his home. Quickly, however, he wiped the evidence
of his sorrow from his face. He glanced
around for old Neb, the cart horse, but saw
nothing of the animal. “They’ve taken him too,
no doubt,” he thought, and his heart grew more
bitter and his face more stern, as he turned
away.

The ease with which Kingdom traversed the
forest, up hill and down hill, and his familiarity
with the country for miles around, enabled him
to reach the meeting place at the rocky ledge
almost as soon as Sergeant Quayle and his companions.
Briefly he told them what he had seen.
They asked questions which he could not
answer, as he had not minutely inspected the
clearing, but he did not tell them his reason for
not having done so, though he knew it well. It
was because he could not bear to undertake the
heart-breaking task.

“Anyway,” said Sergeant Quayle, “our business
tonight is t’ see this queer camp ye’ve
tould us of, an’ hear what the redskin tells in
the mornin’.”

So were plans made accordingly and after a
cold supper all hands set out stealthily to
inspect the haunt of the mysterious man in the
gully. Ree led the way, nor was his task difficult.
The light of a small campfire was seen
reflected on the branches of the trees, even
before the ravine was reached.

Stooping low, and taking every step with
care, all five approached the edge of the bluff.
For a few minutes nothing more than the small
blaze could be seen. But the fire had lately been
replenished with fresh wood and, with this evidence
that some one was near, the watchers
were content to wait.

Soon a man came into view. He carried several
slices of meat and, sprinkling them freely
with salt from a pouch at his belt, prepared to
broil them. Little did he suspect how intently
his every movement was scrutinized, for he
mumbled to himself, and spread his great hands
out to the warmth of the blaze, as if he had no
thought but to enjoy the meal he was preparing.
When the meat was cooked he ate greedily, then
disappearing for a few seconds, returned with
more. This he disposed of in the same way.

For perhaps half an hour he continued to sit
near the fire, but rising in a regretful manner,
at last, he covered the embers with ashes, then
disappeared and returned no more.

Until far into the night Ree and his four companions
remained watching, then cautiously
withdrew. The moonlight filtered through the
leafless branches of the trees and the air was
very frosty. For warmth and rest Kingdom
led the party to the hollow whitewood. Here a
conference was held and the decision reached
to return to the camp in the gully just before
daybreak.

Whether the others slept Ree did not know.
They all were wrapped in their blankets and
very quiet. But he knew that he did not sleep,
nor could he had he tried. The loss of John,
the burned cabin, the whole sorrowful end of all
the bright hopes of a few weeks before kept his
thoughts too unhappily occupied, and he was
glad of the darkness that it concealed his grief
and pain.

Sometime before dawn Sergeant Quayle
stretched himself and sat up. Kingdom did
likewise and the others were also soon astir.
With the same care as before, they moved upon
the haunted ravine, and chose their places, each
a little distance from the others, but all where
they could hurry down the steep hillside at a
moment’s notice.

The sun was just rising as the tenant of the
lonely camp came suddenly into the light,
stretching himself and yawning.

The click of the Sergeant’s rifle as he cocked
it was the signal, and it sounded loud enough.
Silently, swiftly and almost noiselessly the five
men descended the bluff, and, almost before the
murderer’s yawn permitted his mouth to close,
it was open again, but this time in extraordinary
astonishment. He was surrounded by
stern, strange faces.

CHAPTER XXIII—ONE MYSTERY CLEARED AWAY
======================================

It was daylight when with parting war-whoops
the Indians left the scene of the terrible
fire they had kindled, dragging John Jerome by
the thongs which bound him. But they took
with them flames which threatened even greater
danger to the Paleface boy—the fires of excitement,
hate and merciless cruelty which the
night’s barbarities had kindled in their brains.
John realized this full well. Though the savages
had been rough and brutal in their treatment
of him before, now they were still more
so. No indignity, no suffering was too great
to be inflicted upon him.

Little wonder is it that on his own account
poor John wished for but two things—the
slightest opportunity to escape, or the end of it
all quickly. Only the thoughts of Return, and
how his friend would be searching for him
everywhere, as soon as news reached his ears,
buoyed up the wretched lad’s drooping spirits
and gave him strength to endure the cruelties
heaped on his defenseless head.

Tired out after their night’s carousal, most
of the savages lay down to rest upon their arrival
at the village, and John was allowed also
to sink into a troubled sleep, though watched
constantly. It was about noon when he fully
awoke, to find that something out of the ordinary
was taking place. By degrees he discovered
what it was, learned that Captain Pipe
had returned and that explanations were being
made concerning the burning of the cabin.

Lone-Elk took upon himself the whole responsibility
for the offense. The Little Paleface
was a witch, he declared, and his brother, the
White Fox, was a spy upon the Indians, and
on the pretext of befriending Fishing Bird, had
gone to Wayne’s camp to carry word of the
movements of the Delawares.

The Seneca would have put the loyalty of
Fishing Bird himself to the Delawares in
question had he dared to do so, but he gained his
point without it; gained all he sought—praise
for his own loyalty to the cause of the Indians
as a whole; no censure for the pillage and destruction
of the white boys’ cabin, and last and
greatest of all, the assurance that the captive,
Little Paleface, would be put to death.

Let him be burned at the stake, Lone-Elk
argued. Some of the younger Delawares had
never seen a prisoner suffer by fire. It would
warm their blood and teach them how to punish
their enemies.

“By fire, then, let the witch be killed,” Captain
Pipe had ordered, and the terrible sentence
reached John Jerome in his guarded hut a little
later.

Four warriors came. They roughly stripped
him of all clothing excepting his fringed buckskin
trousers, and painted his face and body
black. Thus he was left for the time, as the hour
of his torture was to be the following morning.
But he was told to prepare for death and
formed bluntly that with the rising of another
sun he would bid farewell to earth forever.

In vain did John ask to see Captain Pipe.
The chief would not go near him. He asked
for Gentle Maiden, knowing that she would intercede
for him if she could. No word was
taken to her. He asked for Neohaw. The old
medicine-man came. He heard the lad’s appeal,
and shook his head.

“Neohaw can do nothing,” he declared.
“Lone-Elk is in favor with all the Delawares
and with their great chief, Hopocon. No one
can help the Little Paleface. Neohaw believes
not that the Paleface brother killed Big Buffalo.
Yet all the Delawares have harkened to the tale
of the Seneca and the white boy must die. Let
him then go bravely to the fire. Let him sing
boldly to the last the death songs that his
fathers taught him.”

John thanked the aged Indian for his sympathy
and said no more. He did feel better,
somehow, to know that there was one friend left
in the village, where so many times he had been
received with greatest favor in days gone by,
and resolved that if die he must, it would be
bravely.

Something very like tears, however, dimmed
his eyes as he thought of his unhappy end. He
held them back with an effort and, lest they
come again, and be taken as evidence of fear or
cowardice, he prayed for strength to meet the
awful fate he must suffer like a man. He
breathed a prayer for comfort for Ree Kingdom
and for the dear ones in far-away Connecticut,
when the news of his death should
reach them.

It was night now. The Indians made the
most of it. Their war cries, as once again they
engaged in the terrible dance, led, as always,
by the bloodthirsty Seneca, were frightful. But
to John Jerome a peace which passeth understanding
had come, and with thoughts of all the
happy days his young life, so soon to close, had
known, and in his heart a trusting faith that
One who died for others would be with him to
the end, he fell at last into soothing, restful
slumber.

At dawn John awoke. The village was quiet.
The two savages who stood guard over him
seemed to be the only ones not still asleep, save
for a trio of squaws rekindling the fires before
their wigwams. The air was chill and raw, but
crows were cawing lustily, and a bluejay
screeched his harsh song near by. Soon the
sun rose, pale but clear. It was a pleasant
morning to be alive, a most gloomy one to die.

Patiently the prisoner of the Delawares
awaited the executioners. They soon would
come, he thought, and nerved himself to meet
them without a tremor. His lip quivered the
least bit and a lump came in his throat, but
outwardly he was so calm that the Indians
watching him marveled at his courage, and told
one another in whispers that witches were more
than human.

The morning went quickly by. Expecting
each minute to see Lone-Elk and others coming
for him, time seemed to John to go both slow
and fast; slow, that no one came; fast, because
each minute was so precious. Hope had not
wholly left him, either. It might be, even now,
he thought, that Neohaw or Gentle Maiden, or
maybe Long-Hair or Little Wolf, had successfully
interceded in his behalf.

At last two Indians came to relieve those who
guarded the prisoner. The Delawares were
stirring about in numbers now. John asked the
new guards for food and it was brought to him.
Then Neohaw came. In a kindly way he told
the boy that the time of the burning had been
changed and the torture fire would not be
lighted until night. Against Lone-Elk’s wishes,
Captain Pipe had decided on this, as he had no
wish to participate in the terrible festivities.
He planned to go away near evening and leave
everything to the Seneca.

All day the more cruel of the Delawares exhibited
their impatience. All day squaws were
busy adding to the collection of wood about the
burning-post, set firmly in the ground at the
edge of the collection of huts and wigwams that
comprised the town. Between the logs of his
prison John could plainly see all that went on.

It was late in the afternoon. Night’s shades
were deepening. The sun had nearly sunk from
view and a soft, golden light rested for a time
on the bosom of the little lake.

With a glad cry an Indian came leaping into
the village. Fishing Bird it was, and his joy at
being safe at home once more was great. In a
moment, however, his happiness vanished. In
a trice he discovered the burning-post and the
fagots piled near it. He guessed its meaning
instantly, and his fears were immediately confirmed
as he made inquiry.

Captain Pipe was just leaving the village but
stayed a few seconds to give Fishing Bird greeting.
He listened gravely to the younger
Indian’s plea that the Little Paleface be
spared. He shook his head. Then Fishing
Bird told of the rapid ride Return Kingdom
had made through the woods to save a Delaware’s
life, and called Long-Hair and Little
Wolf to tell of the part they had had in that
undertaking.

“A council shall be held. The Delawares
will give the one accused of witchcraft a fair
trial,” said the chief at last. “If then it is
found that, as a witch, the Little Paleface killed
a warrior of the Delawares, he must suffer the
penalty. Fishing Bird can ask nothing more.”

Very soberly the friendly Indian approached
the place of the white boy’s confinement and
told him that for the present his life was spared.

John’s happiness in seeing the loyal fellow
once again, and in having another friend at
hand, was inexpressible. Soon he had learned
all that the Delaware could tell him concerning
Ree and what the latter had been doing.

“One thing, then, Fishing Bird, you must do
for me,” he said. “Let Ree Kingdom know
that I am to have a trial. Get Captain Pipe
to let you bring him and his friends here.”

“Fishing Bird will bring them. Tell nobody,”
the Indian whispered, and withdrew.

Before the coming of another day the Indian
friend of the boy pioneers had left the village.
He had found that the time of the council the
Delawares would hold to place Little Paleface
on trial would be the following afternoon. The
torture fire would be lighted in the evening, if
the boy was found guilty, as was very certain
to be the case. It was with great news to tell
and many conflicting thoughts in mind, therefore,
that he sped through the woods to meet
Return Kingdom at the spot agreed upon.

Thus while Fishing Bird hastened to the
meeting place from one point, Ree was making
his way toward the same ledge of rocks from
another. Without the least difficulty the lone
occupant of the mysterious camp had been captured
and taken away. While Jim Small and
another of the woodsmen watched the camp
from the bushes to surprise and make prisoners
of any confederates of the fellow, should such
put in an appearance, Sergeant Quayle and the
fourth of his squad held the murderer in close
quarters at the hollow whitewood. Search of
the camp would not be made, it was agreed,
until Kingdom’s return with Fishing Bird.

Ree and the Delaware reached the place of
meeting at about the same time. As the redskin
came up, Kingdom searched his face anxiously
for some clue to the tidings he brought. It was
vain to do so. Indian-like, he could conceal his
thoughts completely and he wanted the pleasure
of telling what he had accomplished before its
substance was surmised.

He soon did tell, however, all that had happened
and very soberly, indeed, did Ree receive
the news. How glad he was that Fishing Bird
had reached the village so opportunely need
not be told. The great question was what could
be done to rescue John Jerome?

“We’ll ask the Sergeant what he thinks about
it,” said Kingdom as the Delaware told more
fully of the desperate situation their friend was
in. “Come, we must hurry. There’ll be not
a minute to lose.”

Another surprise awaited Ree when the old
poplar was reached.

“Whist! The dirty British pig has tould
iverything!” whispered Sergeant Quayle, meeting
Kingdom and the Indian at the edge of the
thicket. “A foine thing it is, too, so it is!”
And with these words the disgusted Irishman
led the way forward.

Within the hollow tree there lay a great bulk
of a fellow groveling on the leaf-strewn earth,
bewailing his fate, pleading for mercy, and
altogether making of himself a most miserable,
loathsome spectacle.

“Oh, if I’d knowed it would come to this!”
he blubbered. “Don’t let them punish me! Oh,
kind gentlemen, save me! Let me go away and
sin no more! Won’t some one speak a kind
word to me?”

The abject fear of the craven, now that his
crime had found him out, would have been
pitiable had his whole manner not been so
utterly contemptible.

Giving little heed to the guilty wretch, however,
Ree at once apprised the Sergeant of the
news Fishing Bird had brought and the latter
was immediately sent to summon Jim Small
and his companions for a conference.

While he was gone Sergeant Quayle told,
with many expletives and many invectives
against the British, the confession the murderer
had made. The fellow’s name, it developed, was
Lobb. He had been connected in an unofficial
way with the British garrison at Detroit and
had served a number of times as a go-between
for the English officers in certain of their more
or less secret dealings with the Indians. In
consequence of these services he was chosen to
accompany two men sent to encourage hostilities
among the savages to the south of Lake
Erie and as near the border of the American
settlements as they should deem it prudent to
go.

The party traveled by canoe, Lobb had said,
and coasting along the southern shore of Lake
Erie, readied and ascended the Cuyahoga river.
In the course of this trip they fell in with Lone-Elk,
roaming the woods alone, as his frequent
custom was. The Seneca was not unknown to
the men, for he had visited Detroit and offered
his services to the British when forced to flee
from his home among his own people.

For various reasons, but principally because
they feared some news of their presence would
reach Fort Pitt or Gen. Wayne, the men concluded
to do all their business with the Indians
of the locality through Lone-Elk. He would
distribute their bounty, the powder and the bullets
they brought, also gold for those who cared
for it.

Not long had the men been in the vicinity
when they decided to visit the salt springs of
which they had heard a great deal. To conceal
their identity they concluded, also, that they
would make some salt while there, pretending
that such was the sole purpose of their presence.

It was at the springs that Lobb’s cupidity
got the better of his natural cowardice and what
little decency he possessed. With a view to
obtaining the gold in the party’s possession,
and thinking then to escape to the east in disguise,
he concealed himself and shot both his
comrades just as they were preparing to leave
the springs. To convey the impression that
Indians had done the awful deed he scalped
both men. Then, filled with fear lest the bodies
be found before he could get away, he had
dragged them into the woods and covered them
with brush.

“Well, why did he hang around here? What
did he say about the lead mine?” asked Ree, as
the Sergeant finished.

“Sure, it’s all the farther he wint with his
black yarn, fer with ‘ye dirty cur, ye!’ I give
him a push an’ a shove an’ he landed where he’s
still layin’, hard an’ fast ferninst the ground
there.”

Lobb was questioned further by Kingdom
immediately. The boy believed he saw in the
loathsome creature’s story reason to believe
that the Delawares had been grievously deceived
by the Seneca.

Whining and groaning, the self-confessed
murderer continued his story. He had been
afraid to go on east from the springs, he said,
and made all haste back to the Cuyahoga, where
he and his companions had established
headquarters in a small cave, originally pointed out
to them by Lone-Elk.

From here he dared move in no direction.
He was afraid to return to Detroit—afraid to
go east, west, north or south. Knowing of the
presence of the two boy pioneers, a few miles
away, his fears were greatly increased lest they
discover him and guess his guilty secret. Day
after day, then, he had lived in the hole in the
hillside, coming out only at night to prepare
food, or when forced to go in search of fresh
meat.

Imploring mercy and begging for freedom,
the fellow concluded his statement.

“You’ve told everything, have you!” Kingdom
asked with as little harshness as his feelings
would permit.

“Aye, master, aye—everything,” Lobb
whined.

“So it was you, then, who supplied Lone-Elk
with lead and bullets, and his story of a lead
mine was a story and nothing more?” the boy
demanded.

“I guess so. I don’t know anything about a
lead mine, master. Truly I don’t know anything
about it. I do remember though, come to
think, that Lone-Elk said once that I was his
lead mine and I must look out that the Palefaces
didn’t find it out.”

“You hear that, Sergeant?” exclaimed Ree,
with some excitement. “Now let us see whether
that sneaking Seneca will continue to rule the
Delawares!”

CHAPTER XXIV—WHO KILLED BIG BUFFALO
===================================

Even before Kingdom finished questioning
the murderer, Fishing Bird had come up bringing
the two woodsmen from the gully. All three
were quickly informed of Lobb’s confession and
of the discovery of John Jerome and the great
danger surrounding him. The entire party
looked to Ree for a suggestion.

“We’ve got to act and act quickly,” the lad
said in a low tone. “If Fishing Bird will be our
escort, I propose that we go to the Delaware
town as fast as we can go. If Captain Pipe
can be made to understand that Lone-Elk has
deceived the Delawares in one way, we can, with
Fishing Bird’s help, and Lobb’s confession,
bring him to his senses about this witchcraft
business.”

“Lone-Elk’s a bad ’un. He killed a Seneca
and had to leave home,” put in Lobb, who had
listened attentively.

“Huh!” snorted Sergeant Quayle. “Cain
killed Abel an’ had to leave home; but he didn’t
go bush-whackin’ two men from behind!”

“And what about Mr. Lobb, anyhow! We
can’t leave him, once we’ve had the pleasure of
his company?” put in Jim Small, with sarcasm.

“Take him along,” said another of the
woodsmen.

“Yes, that is what I had in mind,” Ree
answered. “He can tell Pipe what he has told
us. But we must be moving, men! It’s a long
tramp and time’s flying!”

Without loss of time the party got under way.
No one questioned the wisdom of Kingdom’s
plan, although, if the truth were known, two of
the men at least, looked for a lively scrimmage
as a result of the undertaking. But they did
not falter. Indeed, it is a question if they did
not rather relish the prospect of a brush with
the Delawares.
Lobb was completely disarmed but he was not
bound.

“I give ye my word, master, I’ll not try get-tin’
away,” he said.

“Whist! Give me yer chances in the hereafter;
one’s as good as ’tother,” retorted the
Sergeant contemptuously, and then informed
the murderer further that the slightest attempt
on his part would result in his being shot first
and asked as to the meaning of it afterward.

The fellow made some very humble answer
but he grew decidedly thoughtful and rather
sullen as the marchers hurried rapidly through
the woods. There was a gleam of satisfaction
in his eyes, too, when the party passed the
clearing and saw only a heap of ashes and the
chimney where the boys’ cabin had stood.
He was thinking. He was planning to betray
his captors and with Lone-Elk’s help to turn
the tables upon them. How well he succeeded
will soon be told, for now comes a part of this
history which all participants therein remembered
throughout their lives, and which left its
impress upon the people of Captain Pipe’s town
long after the village itself had ceased to be.

The day was bright and clear. Though not
warm, neither was it very cold, and the south
wind which sighed in the leafless branches of
the trees and gently rippled the waters of the
little lake seemed soft as velvet. The Delawares
were in fine spirits. With savage rapture
they looked forward to the terrible celebration
the night would bring.

From the lower towns on the Muskingum
Captain Pipe had brought encouraging news of
Indian successes along the border and almost
without exception his warriors were enthusiastic
for the final conflict with Wayne’s “Legion,”
which, they believed, would not be long in coming.
They felt perfect confidence as to the outcome.
They had seen his raw recruits. They
did not know then that “Mad Anthony” had
no intention of marching upon them until his
troops were trained. This and much else they
learned in time and to their sorrow.

But there was another reason for a feeling of
happiness in the Delaware town, and particularly
was Lone-Elk, the Seneca, in a good
humor. This very day there had arrived the
two warriors whom Captain Pipe had sent with
an offering of white wampum to the friends of
him Lone-Elk had slain. Not as compensation,
not as damages for the injury done, had the
gift of wampum pure and white been sent, but
as a plea for forgiveness; as a symbol of the
slayer’s penitence and sorrow.

It was somewhat unusual for an offering of
peace to be accepted so long after the crime
had been committed, and it was known, too, that
Lone-Elk’s offense had been particularly cruel.
So was there very good reason for the Seneca
to shake hands with his Delaware friends and
receive their congratulations.

Captain Pipe thought the outcast seemed less
truly sorry for his crime than he should have
been. He little liked the haughty manner in
which the one so lately restored to a place of
honor and respect in his own tribe and nation
bore himself. Perhaps he thought, also, that
the Seneca was less appreciative of the service
rendered him than he should have been. Nevertheless
he gave the bold warrior his hand and
told him that, though he was now free to return
to his own people, he would have a place of
honor among the Delawares as long as he chose
to remain with them.

John Jerome heard by degrees of what had
happened. He wondered if the Seneca would
not now be less bitter toward him, and more
fair and honorable. But he was grievously disappointed.
Lone-Elk showed himself more
hostile, if possible, than before; more keen to
carry out his plot to avenge the pretended killing
of Big Buffalo by witchcraft; more intense
in his hatred.

As he learned just how matters stood, John’s
only hope for escape lay in Return Kingdom
and the men of whom Fishing Bird had told
him. He knew they would attempt to rescue
him, but seeing how greatly they were out-numbered,
fear of the outcome worried him more
and more. It was bad enough for him to suffer,
he declared within himself, again and again,
without dragging Ree and others to the same
fate.

The hour of the council to inquire into the
guilt of the prisoner arrived. The Indians
assembled and once again John found himself
in the long, low bark house where always in the
past he had met the Delawares as friends. Captain
Pipe and every buck and warrior of the
village was in attendance; but more conspicuous
than any of them, more proud and more erect,
was Lone-Elk, the Seneca. In his hands he held
the hatchet brought by him from the cornfield
of the young Palefaces, the hatchet with which,
he said, Big Buffalo had been slain. It was
the evidence that-would substantiate his story
of the witch’s work.

Captain Pipe stated the purpose of the council
briefly and quietly. Then he informed the
prisoner that the Delawares would hear what
he had to say, but urged him to confess his sin
and not, on the eve of death, be guilty of a lie.

With face and body blackened, his hands
bound to a stick behind him, the accused boy
arose. He tried to be bold and fearless, but,
though he looked the Indians squarely in the
eyes, he could not speak as he wished to do.
His voice did not falter, but the words seemed
somehow to refuse to come.

The charge against him was false, he said,
and time would prove it. Never except in fair
fight had he harmed any Indian. He would
leave it to Captain Pipe to judge if he had not
always conducted himself as a friend of the
Delawares. He reminded them how, only the
past winter, he had brought their women and
children food while the able men were away
for the fighting that had taken place. With a
suppressed sigh as he saw how little impression
he had made on the hostile faces round him,
John sat down.

In an instant Lone-Elk was on his feet. With
head thrown back and flashing eyes he repeated
the story of the cloud which drifted over the
lake—repeated again the whole miserable tale
he had told so many times before. Then he
exhibited the hatchet taken from the shock of corn
on which a crow of most strange appearance
had the same day been seen.

.. _`They asked him to go with them`:

.. figure:: images/illus-344.jpg
   :figclass: illustration
   :align: center
   :alt: THEY ASKED HIM TO GO WITH THEM.

   THEY ASKED HIM TO GO WITH THEM.

“Lone-Elk well knows who put the tomahawk
where he got it, Captain Pipe,” the prisoner
found courage to say. But for doing so the
warriors beside him smartly rapped his head
with their knuckles, and the Seneca gave him a
look of hate so fierce, so vindictive it startled
him.

“The white brother’s time for speech is
over,” the chief made answer coldly, and Lone-Elk
now resuming his seat, he said: “The
Delawares will hear any who wish to speak
further.”

A travel-stained figure glided swiftly from
the door to Captain Pipe’s side and spoke to
him in quick, low tones that few could hear. It
was Fishing Bird.

“There are Palefaces who wait with a white
flag, Palefaces who wish to be heard,” the chief
announced, in the Delaware tongue. “Fishing
Bird may bring them here.”

Lone-Elk, with glaring eyes, rose hastily and
would have remonstrated but with a kindly, yet
imperious wave of his hand Captain Pipe
motioned to him to sit down, and he obeyed.

In another minute Return Kingdom, followed
by five other white men, stepped into the Council
House.

“Captain Pipe,” said Kingdom at once, “we
have put down our guns and come here without
arms to say a few words to the Delawares which
they may be surprised to hear. The Delawares
are in council and it is a proper time to speak
to them. We ask nothing more than that you
let us be heard.”

“The Delawares will listen to White Fox,”
the chief answered. “While the council lasts
we shall be as friends. When it is over the
Paleface brothers may go their way.”

“We thank Captain Pipe and all the Delawares,”
Kingdom answered in clear, loud,
friendly tones. “We have come to you with
important news. We are received as your
friends and we shall be such while in your
village. The news we bring will not be pleasant
to all of you. For the Delawares have been
deceived. There is one here who has led Captain
Pipe and many of his people to believe he
knew of a secret mine from which he could supply
them with much lead and with bullets.”

Kingdom paused for an instant, and as he did
so Lone-Elk for the first time caught sight of
Lobb standing between two of the woodsmen.
The look he darted toward the fellow was
venomous. There is no doubt but what he
thought the Englishman had revealed his secret,
then led the white men thither to betray him.

But after the one quick, black look the Seneca
seemed quite indifferent to the presence of any
of the white men. He concealed his thoughts
completely and the Delawares who cast questioning
glances toward him were amazed at his
composure. Not so with Captain Pipe, however.
He had seen on Lone-Elk’s brow the
awful scowl which came and went so quickly,
and to him it spoke volumes.

The pause in Kingdom’s speech was very
short, and few of the Delawares noticed for a
time the effect his words had produced upon
their chief. It was not until later that they saw
on his face the fixed expression of stony coldness
dreaded by all of them.

“There is one among you who has sought to
advance himself and his own ambitions by taking
advantage of the other Indians,” Kingdom
went on. “Three white men were sent from
Detroit with lead, bullets, powder and gold for
the Delawares and other warriors hereabouts.
To one Indian only were the lead and bullets
and powder given. True, he gave them to the
Delawares, but he led them to believe that from
a secret mine did he obtain the supplies he
brought them. So did he gain power and influence
with Captain Pipe’s people.

“Now, hear me further. Two of the three
men sent by the British to carry stores
from Detroit for the Delawares and others have
been murdered. The third man killed them.
He has confessed his crime and told the whole
story of why the Indians did not all share
equally in the goods brought for them. This
man is here!”

Putting all the emphasis he could muster into
his closing sentences, Kingdom signalled his
friends as he concluded, and Lobb, trembling
and ashy pale, was pushed into the foreground.

“You have heard what I have told the Delawares,”
Kingdom quietly said. “Do you know
if it is true?”

The boy’s voice was calm and low, but in the
death-like silence of the Council House every
word was plainly heard by all, and with intensest
interest the savages awaited the answer.

“Yes; it’s true,” muttered Lobb with a look
half of terror, half of appeal and apology
toward the Seneca.

“Now point to the one who received the gifts
intended for all the Indians, not for him alone,”
Kingdom commanded.

The murderer looked anxiously about him.
He trembled so he could hardly stand, but made
no other move.

“Point!” thundered Kingdom. “You know
him well!”

“There!” came with a groan from the frightened
fellow’s lips, and his outstretched finger
indicated Lone-Elk.

On the Seneca’s face there was an expression
so threatening that even Kingdom was alarmed.
But he continued his talk boldly.

“He who has deceived the Delawares in one
way will deceive them in another. Will they
listen when his voice is raised against one who
has always been their friend? Will the Delawares
allow him to shield himself from suspicion
by telling them Big Buffalo was killed
by witchcraft? Will they do this? Are the
Delawares men? Have they not honor and
fairness?”

Kingdom would have said more, and trouble
would most certainly have followed, had Captain
Pipe permitted it. The Indians were becoming
dangerously excited. Jim Small and the
other woodsmen, too, were anticipating a row,
while John Jerome was on the verge of cheering.

The Delaware chief may have seen what the
talk was leading toward; at any rate he quickly
rose, commanding silence, and straightway
began an address such as his people never before
had heard and which no one present could
ever forget. His voice was not loud. His tones
were those of sorrow rather than anger, but he
put into them so much of stern honesty and both
reproof and reproach, that his every word was
like a knife point. He said:

“There came to the Delawares a fugitive and
an outcast. In a moment of anger he had taken
the life of one who was raised up over him by
his people, the noble Senecas. Still he proved
himself in heavy fighting a loyal Indian and a
mighty warrior. So did the Delawares open
their doors to him. He was given places of
honor. When time had passed, and the scar of
his crime was old, a present of white wampum
was sent to the kindred of the dead Seneca asking
their forgiveness.

“This very day have the messengers of the
Delawares returned bringing pardon full and
free for the stranger among them. Yet this
very day do the Delawares learn that they have
been treated as children; deceived and misled
by him they helped.

“They would have adopted him as one of
their own nation, but he has returned their
hospitality with lies, their kindest thoughts with
evil.

“Of the death of Big Buffalo the Delawares
will now inquire among themselves. Witchcraft
is an enemy if it exists. The Delawares
will learn the truth. But the Seneca must go.
Let him leave the town and the hunting grounds
of our people forever. Go!”

Waving his right hand haughtily toward
Lone-Elk, Captain Pipe concluded, and a flush
of anger awful to see came to his face as the
Seneca sat still, his whole attitude one of indifference
and contempt.

As the chieftain was about to repeat his stern
command in even sterner tones, Lone-Elk rose
to his feet. For a second or two he toyed with
the tomahawk he still held in his hands. Then
in insolent tones, both contemptuous and contemptible,
and, glaring up and down the rows of
faces upturned to him, he said:

“Lone-Elk is a Seneca. Never had he a
thought of becoming a Delaware. Why should
a Seneca warrior put himself among squaws?
For food; for rest. Nothing more. Lone-Elk
did not so much as ask that the belt of white
wampum be sent to the friends of a Seneca that
is dead. He asked no favors of any Delaware.
Some of your foolish young men pointed their
fingers at Lone-Elk when Big Buffalo was
found dead in the bushes by the water. For his
amusement Lone-Elk told them of a witch.
Like squaws they heard every word. Like children
they must hear over and over again and
could not have enough. Like children, too, did
the Delaware’s open their ears and their eyes to
hear a legend of a hidden mine of lead. Ugh!
A warrior sickens over them and is glad to go.”

For a full second the Seneca paused and
looked disdainfully about him. There was
anger in every Delaware’s face.

But suddenly Lone-Elk’s demeanor changed.
An exclamation of wrath awful to hear burst
from his lips.

“There stands the two-tongued Paleface
squaw who killed your dead Big Buffalo!” he
cried, and shook his fist toward the quaking
Lobb. “Lone-Elk trusted a two-faced black
dog of a Paleface! That is the Seneca’s crime!
When the Harvest Festival was held this dog
was hiding in the brushes. Big Buffalo stumbled
upon him there and kicked him, like the dog that
he is. They seized each other by the throats.
The grip of the dog was stronger than the warrior’s
grip. Big Buffalo was killed. Lone-Elk
has long known this. But why should he tell
the Delawares? Why tell the Delawares, to
save two Paleface spies, cheating and lying to
the Indians and hunting on their land?

“Still, the Delawares are but squaws. They
have no place among the mighty nations. Lone-Elk
is glad to leave them. The Delawares will
never see him again. Let them, then, tell their
children that once a mighty warrior lived
among them.”

Not deigning to glance again toward Captain
Pipe or any of the others present, but with his
eyes fixed on Lobb alone, the Seneca quickly
turned toward the door.

Before his intention was suspected, he swiftly
raised the tomahawk in his right hand, high
above his head and brought it down on the skull
of the white murderer.

With a stifled cry that ended in a sickening
groan, Lobb sunk to the ground, and the Indian
strode haughtily into the open air, still clutching
the blood-stained hatchet.

CHAPTER XXV—FAREWELL FOREVE
===========================

The killing of Lobb was as nothing to the
Delawares in comparison to the words Lone-Elk
had spoken, and the greatest confusion followed
his sudden departure. Many Indians and two
of the woodsmen rushed out as if to seize the
Seneca, but he was gone. For an instant they
caught sight of him among the trees, walking
rapidly away, with head erect and shoulders
squared. Not once did he look back.

Why no one went in pursuit of Lone-Elk
might be hard to explain; but certain it is that
neither Indian nor white man so much as called
after him. Perhaps what was every one’s business
was no one’s business. At any rate the
Seneca went his way unmolested, and those who
had hurried out after him soon returned to the
Council House where, between them, Captain
Pipe and Kingdom had succeeded in restoring
quiet—the former by ordering the Delawares to
be silent; the latter by cautioning his friends to
beep cool.

Sergeant Quayle had sought to lift the unfortunate
Lobb up the moment he fell, but found
his task useless. The murderer was dead, and
no wonder, for the gaping wound in his head
was both wide and deep.

Quayle still knelt over the lifeless body when
the confusion had subsided; but seeing with
what horror even the savages regarded the dead
man’s fallen jaw and staring eyes, truly a most
terrible sight, he covered the corpse with his
coat.

An embarrassing silence followed the noise
and commotion the tragedy had occasioned, and
for a few seconds the quiet was dreadful. The
Indians were in no good humor. The woodsmen
were ripe and ready for trouble and Kingdom
understood only too well the gravity of the
situation. But he grappled with it boldly and
successfully.

“Captain Pipe,” he said, with quiet dignity,
“A murder has been committed. A white man
has been killed while under the flag of truce.
It is not enough to say that he deserved his
death. Of course we realize that the Delawares
are not exactly to blame. Still we have all
learned how Big Buffalo died and we have seen
the murderer punished. Now will the Delawares
not agree that they no longer have a
reason for holding Little Paleface a prisoner?”

“Like the Delawares have the young Paleface
brothers suffered for the sins of another,”
Captain Pipe made answer. “They will yield
the prisoner to his friends. Yet do the Delawares
urge the Paleface young men to leave the
lands of the Indians and, until there is peace,
come back no more. They know, as the Delawares
know, that it is not safe. The blood of
our warriors is heated. The braves are in warpaint.
For the Little Paleface and for White
Fox the Delawares will have only kind thoughts.
They have been good friends. The Indians
have been glad to visit them and trade with
them.

“Yet is it wise that they travel their separate
paths alone. The ways of the Paleface are not
the ways of the Indian. The Great Spirit has
made them both as they are and they cannot be
otherwise. Time and the conflicts that every
day take place will at last draw a line between
them and there will be peace and happiness. To
the west will live the Indians as the Great Spirit
has taught them to do. To the east, the Palefaces
will cut down trees, drive off the game and
build and dwell in noisy towns. It is as they
have been taught. Still, only by war can the
line of separation be drawn, and it is well for
the Delawares and their Paleface brothers to
go in different ways. Today the trail they have
followed together divides. They say farewell.
They hope for friendship’s sake their paths
may never meet in war.”

With a few words in reply Kingdom hurried
to John Jerome, whom the warriors quickly
loosened from his bonds. The two boys clasped
hands in silence.

Fishing Bird had already sent Long-Hair and
Little Wolf for John’s rifle and other belongings
and when the lad had shaken hands with
Neohaw, Gentle Maiden and Captain Pipe, his
property was handed him.

Ree also took leave of the Indians whose
friendship he had once enjoyed and, two of the
woodsmen bearing the body of the Englishman,
all the white men left the village.

Silently, their untamed spirits for the time
subdued, the Indians gathered near the Council
House to watch the departure of the Palefaces.
To the portage trail Ree and John were accompanied
by Fishing Bird. They asked him to go
with them—to remain with them permanently.
He shook his head.

“Paleface brothers heard the words of Captain
Pipe,” he said, significantly but sorrowfully,
and they said good-bye forever.

An hour later, beside the portage path, the
great highway of the wilderness, the body of
Lobb was buried; and the sun went down and
darkness enveloped the vast forest and all
within it.

CHAPTER XXVI—DOWN THE SUN-KISSED SLOPE TOGETHER
===============================================

Beside their campfire, near the spot where a
mossy stone marked Lobb’s last resting place,
the two boys and their friends discussed their
future movements. All were interested in visiting
the murderer’s camp in the ravine, and Jim
Small declared his intention of making search
for the Seneca’s lead mine. He believed the
Indian had some good reason for telling the
Delawares he knew of such a mine, and, though
the others did not agree with him, he held to his
theory.

In substance Small’s idea was that, inasmuch
as out-and-out lying was not an Indian trait,
Lone-Elk must have had some basis for his
story more than had been discovered. However,
time proved that this theory was not well
founded. Jim was right in his assertion that
Indians did not make lying a practice, but in
this as well as in his ambition to be a leader,
whatever the cost, the Seneca was less honorable
than Indians were as a rule, before trickery
and firewater had corrupted them.

Despite their fatigue and the day’s exciting
events, the woodsmen and the two boys remained
awake far into the night. They were
alert and watchful, however, for the older men
placed no confidence whatever in the savages,
and all screened themselves from sight by lying
down among the bushes near which their fire
was built.

Besting thus, and speaking in low tones, John
told the story of his adventure and in turn
heard with great interest the story of Lobb’s
capture and confession. There were tears in
Ree’s eyes when Jerome described the burning
of the cabin, and for the first time he felt in his
heart a hatred deep and endless toward the Indians
as a whole.

The Sergeant and his men were astonished to
learn of the many lively skirmishes the two
pioneer boys had had with the savages at
different times, and expressed their wonder that both
had not been scalped long ago.

“Ye’ll desarve it, too, if ever ye come to these
hostyle parts ag’in,” Quayle told them.
“Whist! It beats all, so it do, that mere spalpeens
get through where whiskers a full foot
long can’t go!”

The morning came, cold and raw, with a feeling
of show in the air. With some haste the
little party ate a breakfast of roasted smoked
meat and resumed the march toward the gully.
They paused for half an hour in the clearing
and Ree and John soon found Neb, sheltering
himself from the wind, back of a clump of
bushes. Every particle of harness had been
destroyed by the fire, and only a strip of buckskin
could be found wherewith to lead the horse.
Neb was very docile, however, and upon his
willing back a roughly fashioned pack was soon
placed. It contained corn and potatoes from
the fields the boys had cultivated, and various
articles of baggage of which the woodsmen were
glad to be relieved.

Before leaving the clearing Ree and John
went again to the heap of ashes which marked
the cabin site. Together they surveyed the
ruins and were glad of the opportunity to speak
to each other some words of sympathy their
companions would not hear. As they did so,
John noticed sticking in the half-burned end of
a log a blood-stained tomahawk.

“Look! Lone-Elk came here!” he said.

“I declare,” returned Kingdom solemnly,
“his hatred is something almost more than
human. Venting his feelings by leaving that
hatchet at this spot! I suppose he intends it
as a warning!”

Neither boy was disposed to touch the
weapon and they left it—left it and the remnants
of their fallen hopes and castles among
the ashes of the cabin. Ree sighed as they
turned away. “But still,” he said, brightening,
“we have enough to be thankful for, after all.”

It was nearly noon when the camp in the
gully was reached. Apparently no one had
been near since the capture of Lobb, and no
reason to doubt the truthfulness of the story the
guilty wretch had told could be discovered, excepting
that no gold was found.

“We’d orter got that ’fore we took the
heathen away,” said one of the woodsmen, and
the others agreed.

Ree and John, however, did not greatly care.
With the others, they made careful search of
the vicinity, however. Nothing did they find
except a few articles of food, some cooking
utensils, a bullet mold and a quantity of lead
and powder in the low, shallow cave concealed
among the bushes. All the afternoon was given
up to hunting for the lead mine and the gold
thought to be hidden near by. But the Seneca’s
mine, if he had one, remains undiscovered to
this day. Neither was the slightest trace of
the treasure sent for the Indians, but who never
received it, found.

The searchers made camp at night near the
hollow whitewood, whose sheltering trunk protected
Ree, John and the Sergeant. The others
scoffed good-naturedly, saying the first three
were no better than bears. Nevertheless the tree
was a very comfortable place, and especially
on this occasion, for during the night much
snow fell.

The desirability of reaching Wayne’s camp
as soon as possible was apparent to all members
of the party and rapid marching was
agreed upon. A halt of a half day for hunting,
with the result that a quantity of fresh venison
and several turkeys were carried into camp,
was the only delay in the journey to the east,
and the distance of nearly one hundred miles
was covered in a little more than five days.

Gen. Wayne sent for both Kingdom and
Jerome the day following their arrival and
from them heard a full account of the salt
springs murder, the death of Lobb, and the indisputable
evidence that the British at Detroit
were extending aid to the redskins throughout
the Northwest territory. He cautioned the boys
that they must not think of returning to their
clearing, and, thinking perhaps of the military
ambitions of his own boyhood, the sham battles
he had arranged and fought, and the sieges he
had planned, asked them if they would like to
join his “Legion.” It was by this name that
he always called the army he was assembling.

Thanking him, and saying they would like
to think of his offer and talk it over, the lads
took leave of the great soldier, feeling very well
satisfied with themselves.

In the end, however, Ree and John did not
join the “Legion.” They were not lacking in
courage, nor in patriotism. But within the next
few days John was taken very sick. The injuries
and exposure he had suffered were the
cause of it, the army surgeon said. He was removed
to Fort Pitt and the winter was half
over before he was again able to be out of doors.
He regained strength slowly and with the coming
of spring he and Ree, mounted on Neb and
Phoebe, made the trip by easy stages to Connecticut.

Three years passed before the boys went west
again, and along the whole frontier peace
reigned supreme. Wayne’s victory over the
savages at the Battle of Fallen Timbers effectually
ended their resistance to civilization’s advance
in the Ohio country, and never again did
a serious outbreak occur in the region named.
By the treaty of Fort Greenville in 1796 the
extreme eastern boundary between the settlers
and the Indians was definitely fixed at the Cuyahoga
and Tuscarawas rivers and the portage
path. It so remained until the treaty of Fort
Industry in 1805 when the Indians sold the
lands west of the path and the rivers named.

The village of Captain Pipe on the little lake
had by this time long since disappeared. As a
nation the Delawares were scattered and their
numbers were small. Eventually they found
homes in a far western reservation.

Although Ree and John never saw the honest,
loyal Fishing Bird again, they heard of him as
taking a gallant part, on the side of the Indians,
of course, in the Battle of Fallen Timbers. Report
reached them also of a most bitterly hostile
savage who was among the killed in this battle.
He fought with his last breath. Though shot
twice through the body, he raised himself on his
elbow and sunk his knife into a wounded soldier
who had fallen near him. That this redskin was
Lone-Elk, the Seneca, there can be little doubt.

There is a tradition that the beautiful daughter
of Captain Pipe so attracted a young warrior,
whose admiration she did not like, that he
poisoned himself when she rejected his attentions.
Another tradition states that Gentle
Maiden was cruelly shot by two white men,
while walking alone in the woods. I do not
know whether these legends are supported by
fact nor do I know if there is any truth whatever
in the tradition of there having been a lead
mine in the Cuyahoga valley, the existence of
which was known only to the Indians.

Return Kingdom and John Jerome did not
settle again where their original clearing had
been. There was a reason and it was that
pretty Mary Catesby, a very early friend of
Ree’s, having become Mrs. Return Kingdom,
was a party to the plans for the permanent removal
west. She wanted to be somewhere
within reach of neighbors. Woman-like, she had her
way, and Ree bought land near Marietta.
Where Kingdom was John Jerome was sure to
be, and he owned the adjoining farm.

Both the boys, now to manhood grown, were
active in the public affairs of the state of Ohio,
organized a few years later, and many a day
and evening found them together in conference
concerning matters of mutual interest. They
did not always agree, but it is certain they never
quarreled. Their lives were blessed with many
quiet joys and even when sorrows came they
also were shared and each grief and burden
seemed the lighter.

More and more often in later years, as the
two went down the sun-kissed slope of lives well
spent did they speak of the adventures of their
youth. Maybe John was inclined to brag a little.
Some say so. But both were liked by all.

To the end of his days John looked up to Ree
as to an elder brother, and if he did brag it was
of Kingdom’s exploits, rather than his own,
and the latter was wont to smile, “Well, well!
They were days quite brisk enough, and pleasant
now to talk about; but in quite a different
way the present days are brisker, after all.”

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    THE END.

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